


Places in the Heart

by Strangeredlantern, Vague_Shadows



Series: Places in the Heart [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Booty Calls, But also Domestic Angst, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Day At The Beach, Derek Hale and Isaac Lahey, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, First Christmas, Frottage, Halloween, Kid Fic, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, New Year's Kiss, New Years, Non-pairing centric sex, Panic Attacks, Parenthood, Power Dynamics, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Thanksgiving Dinner, Vacation, includes:, mentions of abuse, slow build stisaac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 118,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangeredlantern/pseuds/Strangeredlantern, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vague_Shadows/pseuds/Vague_Shadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac swears there are a billion different kinds of baby formulas in this fucking aisle...<br/>“Hey, man, you okay?”<br/>The voice startles him; he thought he was alone in his dilemma, and he’s embarrassed to wonder how long this guy has been standing there observing Isaac’s pathetic internal meltdown.  Something in the guy’s face seems kind—maybe it’s those Bambi eyes, or the slight grin on his face?—and Isaac gets the idea that even if he noticed the silent freak out he won’t mention it.<br/>“You okay?” he repeats.<br/>“Yeah. I’m fine.”<br/>“Can I—uh—help?  Maybe? I’m not the world’s best at the whole baby thing, but I’m a pretty awesome godfather to the world’s cutest one-year-old so...”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **I don't remember who said it**  
>  **but there really are places in the heart**  
>  **you don’t even know exist until you love a child.**  
>  ~Anne Lamott

           Isaac swears there are a billion different kinds of baby formulas in this fucking aisle.

            _I thought milk was fucking milk.  It shouldn’t be this fucking complicated._

He stares down at the list in his hands again, it’s tattered at the edges where he’s been fidgeting with it since he haphazardly compiled it an hour ago. He reads it over again as he walks through the store.  Every item is the same—tons of options, a million wrong choices to make, and Isaac’s sure to fuck it up.

            Isaac fucks everything up.

            It’s the only thing he’s any good at.

            _Fucking worthless piece of shit._

The last words replay from memory in Dad’s rough, slurred, furious voice.  Isaac _hates_ how right Dad always was about him.  He slams a fist onto the shelf in front of him, venting before he loses his shit completely, and three containers of the stupid fucking formula crash to the tile floor.  Luckily none burst open, though there’s an impressive dent in the side of one.

            “Dammit,” he mutters as he bends to pick them up.

            “Hey, man, you okay?”

            The voice startles him; he thought he was alone in his dilemma, and he’s embarrassed to wonder how long this guy has been standing there observing Isaac’s pathetic internal meltdown.  Something in the guy’s face seems kind—maybe it’s those Bambi eyes, or the slight grin on his face?—and Isaac gets the idea that even if he noticed the silent freak out he won’t mention it.

            “You okay?” he repeats.

            “Yeah. I’m fine.”

            “Those formula cans totally had it coming, dude,” he assures with a straight face.  “I’ll totally back you up; they were giving you the _eye_.”

            “I just—I’m fine,” Isaac repeats.

            “Can I—uh—help?  Maybe? I’m not the world’s best at the whole baby thing, but I’m a pretty awesome godfather to the world’s cutest one-year-old so—”

            “She’s four months old,” Isaac blurts.  “I think it’s that blue can,” he says with a gesture. “I mean the age thing is right for that to be an okay formula to get, but there’s a ton of brands and I don’t fucking know if she needs soy or if the price matters like she won’t get enough vitamins if I get the cheap shit or—”

            “Whoa, whoa, deep breaths; it’s kind of overwhelming; I’ve been there. Just—ah—okay, let’s see.  You said four months old?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Does she have like—allergies or anything? Or stuff that gives her gas or whatever?”

            “I don’t know.”

            _I don’t know anything.  I only met her the day she was born for an hour.  Now she’s my complete responsibility—if I can convince social services that I can handle having a kid._

_I’m not even sure I can convince myself I can handle a kid._

“No big deal; if you don’t know, then it’s probably not too much of a deal—I mean as far as her having allergies.  Maybe—uh—go with the brands at the middle of the price range and something kinda generic? The normal stuff is fine for most kids, but if you really want you can get a soy option too just in case? Cover your bases? Unless there’s someone at home to send you a picture of whatever she’s been drinking.”

            “There’s not.”

            “Oh, bummer.  Well, like I said.  You can get a couple, cover your bases.”

            “Yeah—right—thanks.”

            “You—uh—want help with other stuff?” he wonders, nodding to the list in Isaac’s hand.  “Like I said, I’m no expert, but I can point out the stuff that was a hit with my godkid.  That’s what I’m here for anyway; his birthday party is this afternoon and I totally put off buying him something until the last minute—not that the kid would even really know yet if I gave him a present late, but pretty sure that would make me lose some points in the godfather of the year category.”

            He talks like they know each other, like this is a normal conversation, like there’s no reason he _shouldn’t_ spend his time helping Isaac figure out what the hell to buy.  Isaac _almost_ turns him down, but then he looks at the list—barely half completed—and his stomach sinks.

            “You don’t mind?” Isaac wonders.

            “Not in the least, dude; I’m excellent at spending other people’s money.”

            “I don’t have like—like a really big budget.  I just need basics.”

            _At least I think I just need basics.  They should send her things soon, right? They said they’d be packing up the house and sending everything to next of kin._

The idea of sorting through all those boxes makes him want to puke, so he doesn’t let himself think any further.  He focuses instead on the task at hand.

            “Clothes,” he reads from the list.  “Enough for a few days.”

            “That’s like a _million_ outfits in baby time, dude,” Stiles informs.  “Between spit-up and poop and pee and God knows what else, you’re just going to have to do laundry.”

            “Yeah.”

            “But we’ll find some stuff—plenty of onesies,” he advises, gesturing to a rack with plenty of the pastel pink, blue, green, yellow, and purple garments.

            Isaac grabs several of the pink and purple ones and tosses them in his cart.  Stiles is already moving toward a rack of frilly dresses.

            “Okay, like one of these too?” he advises.  “The green one is pretty awesome,” he adds.

            It’s a light green top with a frilly darker green skirt thing, but the top reads “self-rescuing princess.”  Isaac likes that.  This kid is gonna have to be fucking independent as hell as soon as possible if she’s stuck with Isaac as a guardian.  He’s so incredibly not equipped to be a parent.

            _Well, if Dad could keep me alive as long as he did, maybe I can get by?_

_But Dad didn’t take care of me. Cam did._

_And now he’s dead and gone and I’m left to fuck up his daughter’s life trying to figure out how to look out for her when I know damn well I’m too fucking useless to pull this off._

_But she’s Cam’s._

_And I guess I owe it to him to try._

_Fuck me._

           

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

            Isaac’s been staring at the back of his grocery list for a solid ten or fifteen minutes.  There’s three websites written out carefully in Stiles’-- _what kind of name is that; I mean, seriously?--_ handwriting that “totally help explain all the baby stuff in like normal, easy language and all.” Apparently he takes his role as Godfather very seriously, or maybe the guy just likes research.   Either way, Isaac’s grateful for all the tips he can get.  What’s _really_ drawing his attention though are the ten hastily scribbled numbers at the bottom of the website list: Stiles’ phone number.  

“Just in case,” he’d said. “Ya know, if you want,” he’d added with an awkward laugh.

_Just in case…_

Isaac pushes the numbers to the back of his mind and types in the address of the first website.  He stays up later than he should reading article after article.  He’s incredibly grateful now for the veritable mound of things that Stiles advised him to get.  The short list Isaac had compiled was woefully incomplete, but it seems with Stiles’ shopping assistance he’s all set to manage a baby for the week or so it may be before her things get shipped.  He closes his computer to try and get a little sleep, but it seems there’s no point.  His mind is running wild with all the things he’ll face when child services knocks on his door in the morning.  

When he finally, _finally_ dozes off, he slips into the old familiar nightmare:

_Dad, I can’t breathe! Let me out! I’m sorry, Dad! I’m so fucking sorry! I’ll do whatever you want, just please let me out!_

He jolts awake to realize that the pounding he hears isn’t his own fists on the freezer but someone at the front door.

_Fuck! They’re here? Why didn’t my alarm go off? I haven’t even fucking showered! Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck!_

He leaps to his feet, grabbing his jeans from the floor and the collared shirt he’d ironed last night.   He runs his fingers hastily through his hair as he hurries down the hall, hoping he doesn’t look as pale and flustered and _terrified_ as he feels.  Isaac takes a shaky breath to try and relax as he opens the door.

“Isaac Lahey?”

“Um, yeah, that’s me,” he replies, but his eyes are fixed on the young child in the baby carrier at the woman’s feet.

“I’m Allison Argent; we’ve spoken several times on the phone.”

“Right.  Sure. Nice to meet you, Ms. Argent,” Isaac says, extending his hand.

“As I said on the phone, Allison is fine.  There’s no need to be nervous, Isaac,” she adds kindly.

“Ha--yeah. I’m fine--just--”

“You instantly became a guardian,” she finishes for him.  “I can understand it’s still a very big change to process.”

“Yeah, but I’m ready,” he assures maybe a little too exuberantly.  “I have everything she’ll need. I’ve been reading up on child care and all of that.  I can take care of her.”

_Well, I can try._

“I’m sure she’s in excellent hands.  May I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, of course.”

The house smells too much like the tropical air fresheners Isaac bought to drive out the musky smell that had settled in the house after being unoccupied for so long.  There’s not much clutter though, and everything's clean.  He’s got the little playpen crib thing that Stiles suggested set up in the living room with several little toys in it, so he leads the way to the sofas.  Eloise is stirring; he can hear the little yawning noises she makes, and guesses she must’ve slept on her ride here.

“Have a seat if you want,” Isaac says, remembering to smile and hoping he doesn’t just look like a creeper.

“Thanks.”

When she sets the carrier down, Eloise fusses a bit, and Isaac stares, transfixed, at the tiny human.  She’s so small and fragile and helpless that he’s honestly sure the slightest touch could break her.

_I’m not made for this kind of thing._

“Would you like to hold her?” Allison wonders; she’s smiling at Isaac as he studies the infant.

“I--uh--yeah,” Isaac agrees, unsure that it’s true, but afraid of her reaction if he refuses.

_I swear it’s not that I don’t want her; I’m just not so sure I’m the best thing for her._

Allison unbuckles the safety belt holding Eloise down, and lifts her up out of the carrier.  She gingerly transfers her to Isaac’s arms, and he’s _so_ sure that she’ll start squalling the moment he takes her.

But she doesn’t.

She stares up at him--or maybe she’s just looking at the light--but either way, her bright blue eyes are sparkling like her namesake’s used to.  The idea that she might grow up to favor Mom the same way Cam always did is enough to send a jolt of pain through Isaac.  He smiles past it, intent to keep this meeting entirely positive.  

“She’s smiling at you,” Allison says, and Isaac’s grin becomes genuine.  

“Probably just gas or something though, right?” he says with a laugh.

Eloise coos when he speaks, and Isaac wonders if he sounds enough like Cam for the child to notice.

_Can she even hear that much? Fuck, I should have read those developmental parts of the website more carefully._

“So we’ve got a bit of paperwork to fill out,” Allison says as she smiles at the two.  “I’ll have to drop in for a few visits to make sure everything is going smoothly, but I think it’s going to be great for her to grow up with an uncle who loves her.  It’s a very selfless thing for you to do, Isaac.”

He shrugs at the praise.  “It’s what Cam wanted,” he replies simply.

_And I’ve heard plenty of stories about what the foster system is like.  Maybe I’m not the best to raise a kid, but I’m never gonna hit her.  That’s worth something.  And how do you not love a kid as precious as this?_

 

*************************************************

 

            Isaac figured he owed it to Cam to try and raise his daughter.  He felt like he’d be letting down his brother if child services deems him unfit to keep her.  Now it’s been two hours since Allison left, and Isaac already knows he’s in way over his head.

            Because he’s already so caught up in those pretty blue eyes and the way she coos to herself and her tiny, chubby little fingers that if they take this little girl away, it’s going to break his heart.

            “I’ll show ‘em I can take care of you,” he promises the sleeping child in his arms.  “Your Dad made a pretty good example, and your grandma too when I was little.  She was the first Eloise; your Dad ever tell you that?”

            He knows there’s no point in confiding in her, not really, but he doesn’t feel ridiculous in the slightest.   The weight of her in his arms and her even breathing and the peaceful look on her face just feel _right_ somehow.  Like this is really going to work out.  Like she could belong here with Isaac.  She makes him want to be more like Cam and Mom and fill a role he’s never had to before.

            “Guess I’m not the baby of the family anymore, huh, Eloise?”

            _Time to step up._

 

**************************************************

 

            _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

            Isaac’s hope is all but extinguished hours later when it’s nearing midnight and Eloise has been crying non-stop for what seems like an eternity.  He’s fed her, burped her, changed her diaper, sang, done peek-a-boo, walked around, strolled her around the house, put her in the bouncy seat, danced toys in front of her.

            And she’s _still_ wailing like a banshee.

            _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

_She’s not running a fever; she hasn’t spit up or pooped enough to seem sick._

_Does she just hate me?_

_What the hell am I supposed to do?_

_Allison said to call if there was any problem, if I needed anything, but I can’t let her know I’m this clueless. I can’t start crying for help from the social worker less than twenty-four hours in.  They’ll think I’m hopeless for sure._

_But she won’t stop crying!  I have to call someone._

_Except I don’t have anyone to call.  Cam was it, and he’s dead now.  It’s just me and this screaming baby._

_And the guy from the store! Stiles! He totally wrote a number down.  He probably didn’t mean for him to call him at fucking midnight, but I can at least give it a shot before I give in and call Allison._

_I mean,_ _If he knew everything to buy for her, he should know how to get her to stop crying right?_

_Please, please, please know something I don’t to stop her crying,_ he pleads as he pulls out his phone and dials the scribbled numbers.  Three rings before:

“Uh--hello?”

“Hi--um--I’m trying to get in touch with Stiles? It’s--uh--Isaac?”

“Isaac?”

“Sorry; wrong number I guess.  Didn’t mean to--”

“Ah--confused baby aisle dude!”

“Oh. Yeah. So not wrong number?”

“No, dude, totally not.  Just took me a second. Sorry.  So--uh--guessing from the background noise that things aren’t exactly stellar?”

“She hasn’t stopped crying in hours.”

“Dude, is she sick?” he wonders worriedly.

“No fever. No real puke. Her poop looks normal.”

“Did you like Google what normal baby poop is supposed to look like or something?” Stiles asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“Fuck you!” he says aloud.  “I’m losing my mind here, okay? I don’t think anything is wrong with her, I’m just pretty sure she hates me.  I don’t know what the hell else to try.  You’re the one who told me to call you if I needed a hand, so you got any ideas or what?”

“Okay, okay, deep breaths, man.”

“Look, nevermind, I’ll just--”

“No, no, no! I totally wanna help. I swear. I should know better than to tease a stressed parent.”

“I’m her uncle,” Isaac corrects, “but yeah, you should.”

“Uncle?” Stiles repeats.  “Ohhh you’re babysitting?  First time? Your cluelessness makes sense now. I totally flipped my shit the first time I kept--”

“Not babysitting.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not babysitting.  I’m her--she’s--her parents are dead.”

“Oh. Fuck.  I--uh--I seriously have like absolutely nothing to say here, except I’m sorry, which means like nothing coming from me to you when--”

“I don’t want sympathy; I want you to tell me how the fuck to get her to sleep and rest so that we don’t both look like total shit when they come to do a welfare check first thing in the morning!  Can you say something about _that?_ ” Isaac demands.

“So are you like flying totally solo on this?”

“You’re wasting my time.”

“Let me help you.”

“Stop asking stupid questions and give advice then!”

“You’re like way too stressed out to handle this by yourself, man; you need to tag team it.  Divide and conquer, ya know? Like--”

“If I had someone to “tag team” it with, why the _fuck_ would I be calling the _complete stranger_ I met at goddamn _Target_ for advice?!”

The words are out before Isaac can process what he’s confessing.  In the lengthy silence that follows his fury starts to ebb into total mortification.

“Look, I’m sorry I bothered you.  Have a good night,” he mumbles into the phone before hanging up.

He puts it down on the table and resumes bouncing Eloise and trying his damnest to sound calm as he sings “hush little baby” for the _billionth_ time.  His phone lights up on the table, and it looks like Stiles is calling back.  He hesitates for just a moment, but he really could use some help or advice or _something_.

“Hello?”

“Okay, I’m a jackass,” Stiles says from the other end of the line.  “I didn’t entirely mean to be, but, hey, that’s more or less the story of my life.”

“You don’t need to--”

“Let me tag team with you.”

“What?”

_Are you serious?_

“I know that I’m the total stranger from Target, but I swear to God I’m not an axe murderer or anything.  I’m actually the sheriff’s kid which has to be like major brownie points, right? I mean if you need him to, he can probably walk me to the door and show you his badge and swear boy scout’s honor that I’m safe to be around the baby.”

“You don’t even know who I am.”

“I know that nobody deserves to live through the hell of a screaming four-month-old on their own,” he answers lightly.  “I help my buddy Scott and his wife with their son all the time when they’re sleep deprived or need a break or whatever.  I can lend you a hand ‘til you get used to her.”

“I didn’t ask you to--”

“I’m _offering_ , okay? Even if it’s just for a fucking hour so that you can calm down and get some air.”

“An hour.”

“Is that a yes?”

“For an hour,” Isaac repeats.  “Just so I can get some air.”

“Okay deal.  Text me your address.”

 

******************************************

 

 He doesn’t ask Stiles to have the sheriff bring him as a show of good faith and all that, but Isaac does Google search Sheriff Stilinski.  He’s relieved to see an article entitled “like father like son” that details the scholarship Stiles garnered for his Criminal Justice degree at the local college because he signed an agreement to come work for the county upon graduation. There’s a classic cheesy picture amidst the text of the article that features Stiles’ next to his father who is understandably beaming with pride.  

_Okay, good sign. Criminal Justice major so probably not a total psycho or anything._

_Dammit. I really should not have watched Dexter._

At least Eloise’s wailing has tapered off into fussing and whining with the occasional outburst, but Isaac’s still ridiculously grateful when the doorbell rings.  

Stiles stands on the stoop with a slightly awkward smile and says, “Someone ordered half a tag team?” with a forced laugh to follow.

“Thanks for doing this,” Isaac replies.  “Come on in.”

“Good grief she’s got a healthy set of lungs, doesn’t she? Been keeping this up all night?”

“Just about it.”

“Okay; hand off the scream machine.  Take a break,” he instructs, reaching for Eloise.

It’s harder than Isaac expected to give her to Stiles even though he knows she’s still _right_ there.  He bites at his lips worriedly when the transfer doesn’t seem to have any effect whatsoever.

“Seriously dude, you are the embodiment of stress right now.  Go wash your face or grab yourself a glass of water or something.  I got her for five minutes.”

“I--uh--yeah--okay.  Just--ya know like--watch her head and--”

“Got it; I promise,” Stiles says with a kind but pitying smile.  “Go.”

He retreats to the bathroom for a moment, taking the suggestion and washing his face with some cold water and forcing himself to take some deep breaths.  It helps a bit.  Honestly just knowing that there’s someone else to suffer through this with--at least for the next hour--is enough to calm him down pretty quickly.  When he emerges from the bathroom and the first thing he notices is the silence, and panic sweeps through him.

_It’s barely been five minutes! She can’t be calm already! Oh my God he took her!_

He bolts down the hall in terror, but stops short when he comes out into the living room.  Stiles has stretched out on his back on the couch with Eloise on his chest.  He smiles over at Isaac as he walks in, and brings a finger up to his lips to shush him.  Stiles continues rubbing the infant’s back as he hums-- _Hey, Jude? Beatles for a lullaby? Really?_

But it’s clearly working.  Eloise lays silent, eyes _finally_ beginning to drop, and within another five minutes she’s out like a light.  Stiles grins.

“Told ya I was good at this,” he says in a hushed whisper before resuming his humming. “Aren’t I, peanut?” he adds to the sleeping baby.

 _Her name is Eloise,_ Isaac wants to correct, but he doesn’t.  Both because he doesn’t want any possible extra noise that could wake her again and because there is something terrifyingly wonderful at the fact that this guy has been in the house less than twenty minutes and he already looks like he belongs here--making himself at home, calming the kid, giving her a nickname.  It puts an odd ache in Isaac’s chest, and he finds himself thinking that maybe he wants Stiles to stay a little longer than an hour after all...

 

  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

        Stiles’ alarm goes off much too soon for his liking, but then again, that’s the case whether he’s waking up at dawn or mid-afternoon. He grumbles to himself as he fumbles for his phone to silence the annoying din. He’s been trying to leave early enough to drop by Isaac’s on his way to class this week, since it’s (mostly) on his way. He still can’t believe Isaac lives just a mile or so away and yet Stiles has little to no memory of him from school. Of course, Isaac doesn’t even remotely seem the type to draw attention to himself either. Regardless, Stiles notices him now, and not just because Eloise is tiny and pudgy and adorable.          

There’s something about Isaac and this whole situation that’s getting under Stiles’ skin, and he isn’t quite sure how he feels about that.  


 _I’m overthinking already. It’s not that big a deal. I would be a total jerk if I completely cut out on him after the first night. The guy just got landed with his dead brother’s baby for Crissake. I can’t just leave him to totally fend for himself._  
     

 He opens a blank text to shoot Isaac a “Got some extra time before class, want me to stop by? Need anything?”

**************************************************

       

“Hey, there she is,” Stiles greets in unabashed baby talk voice when Isaac opens the door. “Miss me, peanut?” he wonders, reaching to take her from Isaac.  
       

“If you could just keep an eye on her so I can shower really quick, that would be so awesome.”  
     

  “Yeah, dude, no problem. I personally have this theory that chilling with a cute baby before my insanely boring and pointless philosophy class makes me less likely to pick arguments with the professor. She’s probably doing wonders for my grade in there.”  
       

“You’re sure you don’t mind? It won’t make you late?”  
       

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to and have time, Isaac. Take your time.”  
       

“Thanks.”  
       

Stiles settles on the living room floor with Eloise, putting her down on the blanket under her mobile play thingy with all the dangling rattling birds and butterflies on it. She coos as she reaches up for the lowest hanging object, and Stiles heart melts for the millionth time. She babbles and makes spit bubbles and generally amuses herself. Just when he’s sure he’s going to overload on her adorableness, the all-too-pungent aroma of a newly filled diaper assaults his senses.  
       

“Really, kid?” he mutters. “Couldn’t have saved that for your uncle Isaac?”  
       

Of course, Stiles doesn’t doubt that Isaac has changed more than his fair share of dirty diapers in the past few days. The knowledge doesn’t make him any more eager to take her back to the bedroom Isaac’s turning into a nursery and lay her on the towel that he’s placed on the bed so it can serve as temporary changing table. He unbuttons her onesie and gags as he opens the diaper to assess the situation.  
       

“Dear _God_ , Eloise; what the _hell_ did he feed you? Prune juice and cabbage soup? Ugh!”  
         

He pulls the collar of his shirt up over his nose to provide minuscule protection from the rank smell. She needs some cleaning up and a new onesie. Stiles deposits the stink bomb in its own trash-bag so he can seal it up immediately, and makes a mental note to maybe suggest one of those diaper genie things.                

Isaac emerges from the shower just as he’s all but emptying a can of Febreeze into the air in hopes of making the room bearable again.  
       

 “You’re in big trouble, Mister,” Stiles informs. “You totally plotted to make sure it was me that had to change out that impressively disgusting dump. Admit it.”  
       

 “Maybe,” Isaac replies with a small smile, “Better you than me,” he adds, letting the smile become a full smirk.  
       

 Stiles just _barely_ keeps his mouth from falling open. He’s been teasing Isaac for _days_ but Isaac never actually teases back. Usually it’s just a reluctant smile or a roll of his eyes. The realization that Isaac’s definitely warming up to him a bit makes Stiles’ heart stutter for just a moment, but he doesn’t allow himself to ponder what that suggests.  
       

 “You suck,” Stiles says moodily, though the grin he can’t quite rein in contradicts the claim.

******************************************

        There is one voicemail and one text from Isaac waiting on Stiles’ phone when he emerges from his second lecture of the day. He checks the text first, smiling when it reads:  
     

  “Hey, just ignore that voicemail, okay?”  
       

Stiles is naturally _far_ too curious to just delete the message without listening first.  
     

  “You have one unheard message,” the automated voice informs him before Isaac’s voice takes over, “She rolled over! On her own! I totally almost missed it, but I was coming back from the kitchen and just--bam! just like that she flipped from her tummy to her back and--shit I totally should have gotten the camera! I should do that. Maybe she’ll do it again in a minute. I swear I’m not crazy, man; she _totally_ rolled over on her own, so you should come by and see when--well, you--you totally have class so--never mind--sorry I forget that you aren’t off--I mean, since I’m on personal time from work but, obviously, you don’t work, and even if you did you wouldn’t take personal time because some random guy died and his brother is--oh my god, ignore me. Ignore this. Sorry I bugged you at school. I’ll uh--bye.”  
     

   Stiles is laughing outright by the time the voicemail ends, and he doesn’t hesitate for a second before pressing the button to save it. The girl in front of him in the line for coffee is eyeing him like he’s lost his mind, but Stiles doesn’t remotely care. That was probably the most endearing voicemail ever left in the history of ever, and no one could possibly hear it without hysterical laughter. He finds himself seriously debating skipping his next class to go back to Isaac’s, but he’s almost out of absences in there. He decides to wait until after to go and bear witness to Eloise’s triumph, and if he’s feeling generous, maybe he’ll pretend he didn’t listen to the voicemail.  
       

He’s not sure why Isaac is so guarded with his emotions, but it makes the moments when he briefly allows something to show besides fear or anger all the more precious--not that Stiles would ever call Isaac precious to his face; he’s like ninety-nine percent sure that would just get him a swift punch to the jaw--well, probably just a death glare--but still. Best to keep ‘precious’ and ‘adorable’ and that whole particular family of adjectives reserved for the little peanut.

*****************************************************

        “Come on, Eloise,” Stiles urges. “Show off your mad skills!” Stiles urges.  
       

Apparently Isaac has been watching her like a hawk since he left the voicemail--that Stiles graciously pretended he didn’t listen to--but she hasn’t given an encore of her earlier performance yet. It’s a solid half hour of Stiles watching intently as Isaac stands by ready to video her before she _finally_ makes a second flop. Both men shout triumphantly, jumping up to their feet. Eloise promptly bursts into tears at the ruckus, and Isaac scoops her up to shush her.  
       

“Aw, baby, sorry we lost our minds and scared you,” Stiles says, grinning ear to ear as Eloise’s cries quickly downgrade to just a little sniffle and back to cautious quiet. “Dude, though, congrats for making it to your first baby milestone as a parenty type person!” Stiles adds to Isaac, throwing a congratulatory arm over his shoulder before he can think better of it.  
Isaac tenses immediately, and Stiles is quick to withdraw.  
       

“‘Parenty type person’?” Isaac repeats, rolling his eyes and apparently pretending the whole arm-over-shoulders thing didn’t happen. “Uncle will probably be a little easier to teach her, don’t you think?”  
       

“Yeah, totally, just--didn’t know if you were gonna go for ‘Dad’ or--”  
       

“No,” Isaac says firmly. “She had a dad, a good dad who loved her. I’m not taking his place. I’m just stepping in since Cam can’t. I’m not her dad. Uncle Isaac is good enough for me.”  
       

“Makes total sense,” Stiles says.  
     

  Isaac’s phone rings, pulling them from the conversation. Stiles holds out his hands to take Eloise so Isaac can answer it.  
       

“Hello? Yeah, this is Isaac Lahey,” Isaac tells the person on the other end of the line as he disappears into the kitchen to take the rest of the call; he returns a few minutes later with a crease in his forehead.  
       

“Everything okay?” Stiles wonders.  
       

“Yeah, just the pediatrician’s office. I called to get her like the check-up appointment thing, and according to those website you gave me to look at she needs shots at four months, so they worked us in. Just reminding that it’s tomorrow morning.”  
     

  “Then why do you look kinda like you want to puke.”  
     

  “I do not look like I’m going to puke.”  
       

“You don’t like doctors?” Stiles guesses.  
     

  “I’m fine; I don’t care about doctors. I just--”  
     

  “Sharing is caring, dude; spit it out. Nothing’s wrong with her is it? Like she doesn’t have some kind of condition or disorder or--”  
       

“I’ve never actually left the house with her,” Isaac confesses, blushing as he averts his eyes.  
     

  “What?”  
     

  “I mean--I got her stuff that day I met you. I took personal leave from work. I’ve got plenty of food here, so--”  
     

  “You haven’t left the house in _five_ days?”  
   

    “I went through the drive thru at McDonald’s a couple times.”  
     

  It takes _every_ ounce of Stiles’ self control to hold in his laughter at Isaac’s genuine distress.  
     

  “You can totally handle it, dude. You’ve got to get out with her sometime.”  
   

    “Yeah, I know.”

“You want back-up?” Stiles offers before he really thinks it through. “I mean--not that I don’t think you’re fully capable.”  
       

“You’ve got classes.”  
     

  “Just one on Fridays.”  
     

  “The appointment isn’t until two.”  
     

  “Perfect. My class lets out at noon. No worries. I can totally help out. If you want me to?”  
     

  Isaac stares without replying. For a moment or two it’s no big deal, but then Stiles can’t help but fidget under his gaze.  
     

  “What, dude? Do I like have a giant bug on my face or something?”

“No,” Isaac says, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it. “I just--can I ask you something?”  
       

“Sure,” Stiles agrees with a shrug. “Ask away.”  
       

“Why do you even care?”  
   

     “Huh?”

“You’re what--nineteen? twenty? in college, no family to deal with, and no fucking reason whatsoever to get mixed up with me and Eloise and all the shit that comes with it. So why would you do all this?”

“Dude, if I’m like overstepping bounds or something--”

“I didn’t say that,” Isaac interjects. “I just want to know _why_.”  
       

Stiles is quiet a moment, considering the question he hasn’t even addressed for himself yet. Isaac waits pretty patiently, though Stiles feels a bit like his eyes are boring into his soul or something.  
       

“I guess,” Stiles starts finally. “That I just kind of like having somebody to look after?” he supposes. “I mean--I used to watch out for Scott when we were kids and the whole time we were growing up and stuff. I was his wingman, but now he’s married and got a kid and everything. My Dad was kind of my other person, but he’s got Melissa to look out for him now and make sure he eats his vegetables and watches his cholesterol and all that. I kinda miss having someone to watch out for; plus, I’ve just always liked helping people. It’s the whole reason I wanna be a deputy and all that.”  
It’s not lost on Stiles that he failed to say if he was here to look after Eloise or Isaac, and he hopes Isaac doesn’t ask for the clarification; Stiles honestly isn’t sure of the answer.  
     

  Isaac studies him a moment or two longer before simply saying, “Okay then.”

“So we’re good then? You’re not like--kicking me out of the Eloise fanclub?”

“No,” Isaac affirms with a small smile. “Who else would make the club t-shirts?”

“Oh, buddy, you are so going to regret giving me that idea…”

***************************************************

       

The office is decorated in airplanes and trains and jungle animals. It’s not quite a theme overlap that Stiles understands, but none of the babies or toddlers in the well-child waiting room seem to mind very much.  
       

“Lahey?” the receptionist calls, and Stiles rises with Isaac to go toward the desk, assuming they’ll be shown back.

        “That’s us,” Isaac tells her.

“Just a little paperwork,” she says. “If you and your partner could just fill out all the information on that top sheet, and then provide the two insurance and emergency contact sheets behind that,” she requests.

“Oh--uh--we just need one contact sheet,” Isaac says, handing the third page back. “He’s not--uh-it’s just me,” he tells her.

“Okay,” she says without batting an eye. “Just bring them back up when you’re done. Grab a pen from the cup if you need one.”

        It was a totally honest, benign mistake. The lady at the counter didn’t see it as a big deal. Isaac didn’t seem to see it as a very big deal.

 _So then why is my heart totally beating out a samba because some random receptionist thought I was actually a part of this family?_  
       We would totally make a really adorable family though.  
       What the fuck am I thinking? Why am I thinking that? I have known this guy for a week. One fucking week! I cannot be thinking about cute families with him and his baby and

“What’s wrong with you?” Isaac asks quietly as they sit down.

“Nothing. I’m good. Indigestion,” Stiles lies.

_Indigestion? What the fuck? Years of practice lying to Dad to cover my countless shenanigans, and the best thing I can come up with to tell the guy I’m kind of sort of daydreaming about having a family with is fucking indigestion?_

      _Kill me now._

_Except don’t, because I don’t even know this guy well enough to have a crush much less a date, relationship, marriage and/or family._

_Oh, God._

_What am I getting into with this? Am I really this pathetic to be fantasizing about long-term here?_

_I really just need to get laid or something because there is absolutely no justification for this rambling half-wishing spurred by two fucking sentences in a pediatricians office._

_What is wrong with me?_

 

************************************************

       Stiles is fine.

       He is totally and completely fine.

       Even though they are about to take several very sharp and pointy and not cool needles and stab them into an adorable, pudgy little baby and make her cry.

       Stiles is fine.

“Um, sir?” he nurse says. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Great. A-okay. Fine and dandy.”

“If you’d like to step out-”

       “Fine and dandy,” he repeats firmly, and the nurse raises an eyebrow at him. “Not a huge fan of needles,” he mutters, “but not going anywhere,” he persists.

        “Okay, well, if I could just get one of you to hold her while we get started. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Ha, yeah, for you,” Stiles blurts darkly.

        “ _Dude_ , shut up,” Isaac snaps, standing and plucking Eloise from Stiles’ arms. “The _baby_ is being less of a baby than you.”

        “I’m just saying that we are the ones who have to take the screaming kid home here.”

“Sir, the experience is much worse than the actual pain; I can promise you it’s worth this to make sure she doesn’t get--”

“I know; I totally know; the logic is great; miracle of modern medicine and all that; I just hate needles.”

       “Then close your eyes _and_ your mouth,” Isaac suggests.

       He knows that it’s entirely the nurse’s job and Melissa is a nurse and she’s awesome and of course Eloise was going to cry when she got the first shot.

       But it still kind of makes Stiles want to punch the woman in the face for making her squall like that.

_Why did I think it was a good idea to come along for this shit again?_

*************************

 

       “Hey, kiddo, I’m home!” Dad calls through the house. “Got food.”

       “What kind of food?” Stiles wonders as he leaves his room and heads downstairs.

       “Pizza with every meat they had and extra cheese.”

       “You better be kidding, Dad.”

“Thin crust veggie,” he replies, “ _and_ I paid extra for some sides of rabbit food,” he adds, holding up a bag that presumably holds side salads. “Satisfied?”

       “Dude, _yeah_.”

       “Good,” Dad says, plopping the pizza box onto the coffee table. “Eat up then, kiddo.”

       He eyes his father suspiciously. “What?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“When you’re waiting for the right moment to try and get the truth out of me with a well-timed surprise question.”

“What? No,” Dad denies, not even remotely believable.

“Dad.”

“No, I just--thought ya know, we’d have some dinner and-”

“ _Dad_.”

“Okay, maybe I do have a question.”

“And that question would be?”

“What’s her name?”

“Who’s name?”

       “Come on, kiddo. You’re not at school that much; you haven’t been at Scott’s--I asked Allison. Something’s been up with you all week. You leave for school early, much better dressed than earlier. You check your phone constantly and grin when you get messages and pictures. So I just think that as your dad, I have a right to know her name.”

       “It’s—uh-- _his_ name actually, and it’s not what you think.”

       “ _His_?” he repeats. “His. Oh. I see. Well. That’s--fine--too,” Dad stutters, clearly reeling but determined to be cool. “I’d still like to--”

       “It’s not what you think,” Stiles repeats. “His name is Isaac, and he just adopted a baby and kinda needed some help because he doesn’t really have anyone else. I kinda happened to meet him at the store, and I said he should call if he needed help, but I didn’t really think he _would_ except he _did_ so I’ve just been--ya know--helping and stuff.”

       “He adopted a kid all on his own?”

       “His niece; his brother and sister-in-law died in a car wreck; Isaac’s the only family she’s got, so it’s him or the system. He’s just really worried about making a good impression and getting off to a good start, ya know?”

“How old is he?”

“My age I think? Or close to it? I dunno.”

“What do you know?”

       “That his name is Isaac Lahey, he has a really cute kid and he’s scared out of his mind and alone?” Stiles provides. “Look, Dad, I know it’s kind of insane, but what else am I supposed to do? And they’re like totally growing on me. I think maybe I’ll see if Scott and Allison want to do like a playdate or something soon. I honestly think the guy just needs--”

       “Lahey?”

       “Uh--yeah, Lahey, why?”

       Dad closes his eyes and sighs. “I know that family a little better than I’d like if you’re hanging around with him.”

“What? He’s secretly an ax murderer?” Stiles jokes, but Dad doesn’t crack a smile. “Seriously, what?”

“You know I can’t talk about details, but I’ll say that he’s got a temper that worries me. I don’t think you need to get too involved with this, Stiles.”

“Dad, he’s got _nobody_ and a _baby_ to look after.”

“Just--be careful, okay?”

“I’m always careful.”

“No you’re not.”

“I always have good _intentions_ of being careful?” Stiles tries again.

“Closer to the truth. I’m not kidding though, Stiles. The Lahey family--there’s just a lot of--I would rather you not get too attached to the kid or her uncle, okay? I’ve got a bad feeling it would be nothing but trouble for you.”

_When did you know him? A while ago? Maybe he’s different now? I just don’t get the feeling that he’s trouble._

**********************************************************************

        Stiles is almost embarrassed at how easy it is to hack the County Records; it’s the curse and benefit of having small town government with plenty of budget cuts. Few people care enough to try accessing it; they’ve upped their security here and there, but it’s never been anything to keep Stiles at bay for long. Generally he just likes to keep track of Dad’s more interesting cases, looking at all the details his father can’t legally share.  
Tonight, he’s delving into anything and everything on Isaac Lahey and his family. He doesn’t like what he finds:  
Minor shoplifting charges, some trespassing incidents, and several brawls--all in cases that also include Camden Lahey. Stiles hopes Isaac’s involvement was mostly due to tagging along behind his brother. He had court-ordered anger management and a probation officer before he was even a senior in high school. The reason Stiles doesn’t remember him from school is that he didn’t go to Beacon Hills High for long--kicked out for fighting as a sophomore, and sent to Hope Academy, the alternative school for kids who got expelled and parents couldn't afford private school--a last ditch effort to keep bad kids in school and hopefully “turn them around.”

       It’s not a pretty past by any means, but it’s not the worst. Plenty of kids grow out of stuff like that, and it probably didn’t help that he lost his mom when he was just thirteen. Stiles knows firsthand the havoc that kind of loss can bring to a family.  
What worries Stiles is what he finds when he starts to dig into Isaac’s father. There’s a few ‘drunk and disorderly’s on his record, but there’s also an open file on his murder; Mr. Lahey was viciously stabbed to death in an alley behind a bar.

       And Isaac was the primary suspect.

       Not only the primary, but he resisted arrest and ran--kept off the grid for three months until new evidence came to light that cleared him. He got about a million hours of community service as penance for evading the police, but overall his name is supposedly cleared.  
In theory, Isaac could be totally past all of it--shoplifting, fighting, distrust of the cops-- and Stiles may have no reason to worry.

       But that’s just in _theory_.

       And all Stiles can think is how Isaac first drew his attention by slamming his first into a store shelf and sending formula cans flying; it had seemed understandable enough at the time, but he can’t help wondering now if it was a red flag he needs to pay attention to.

_Maybe he’s right to wonder if he’s the right person for Eloise? He loves her, but--if any of this shit is still part of him, then Dad’s right about the Laheys and trouble._

_And right about me getting too involved._

_Fuck._

_How can I be in this deep after just one week?_


	4. Chapter 4

            “You’re quiet,” Isaac comments as Stiles dances the toy in front of Eloise without his usual improvised babytalk monologue.

            “Am I?” he asks, though the look of innocence he’s trying for isn’t enough to cover that he knows Isaac’s right.

            “Something wrong?”

            “No.”

            “Good.”

            “Yep.”

            Normally Isaac likes quiet; he’s a big fan of companionable silence, which makes it all the more mysterious that he’s taken such a liking to Stiles so quickly.  This isn’t just silence though; there’s something just under the surface that Stiles must not want to address.  Isaac makes it through another twenty minutes of abnormal quiet and glances from the corner of Stiles’ eye before he can’t tolerate it anymore.

            “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

            “Nothing, man.  I’m good.”

            “Spit it out.  Whatever it is.  You tired of babysitting? ‘Cause my delicate feelings can totally take it if--”

            “No.”

            “Then _what_?”

            “You’re gonna be pissed, and if you could just try to _not_ be _as_ pissed, that would be great.”

            “Okay.”

            “I kind of maybe read your record--like your police record.”

            Isaac feels like he’s been punched in the gut.  

He’s not an idiot; Stiles is the sheriff’s son.  He was bound to hear something eventually about the Lahey family and its many problems.  Isaac had just hoped that maybe it wouldn’t be so soon, or that maybe enough time had passed since the worst of it that it wouldn’t seem like such a big deal.  Judging by the look on Stiles’ face he thinks it’s a _very_ big deal.

“That’s none of your business,” Isaac informs, going on the defensive before he can think better of it, masking the vulnerability under the familiar shield of anger, “and pretty damn illegal for a Sheriff’s son I bet.”

“I was just curious.  I didn’t think--I’d heard--I was just trying to check facts.”

“And what you found was that whatever you’d heard about the last living, no good, troublemaking Lahey was true,” Isaac supposes, refusing to lessen his glare though Stiles’ eyes dart to the side to break the eye contact. “Is that right? Thieving, fighting, murdering Lahey.”

“You didn’t kill your dad,” Stiles protests. “I do know that.”

A bitter bark of laughter escapes Isaac before he can rein it back in.  Of course Stiles would absolve him of that--the only part of his record he wishes were true.

“Isaac, I know I haven’t got the whole story.”

“No, you don’t,” he agrees curtly.  

“I just--I mean I saw the part about the anger management counseling and stuff. So you’re--you’re probably past all that kind of stuff now, right? You’re not--you’re different than you used to be?”

The question sinks in, and Isaac takes note of the concern on Stiles’ face as his eyes flit back to Eloise.  As the pieces click together, Isaac rises from the chair in anger; it’s not the right way to respond to the accusation, but he can’t help it.

“You think I would _hurt_ her?!” he demands.

“I just want to make sure that--”

“Who the fuck are _you_ to ask what’s good for _my_ niece, huh? You don’t know shit about me or my family! You don’t get to come into _my_ fucking living room and talk to me like that! It’s bullshit, and you fucking know it.  How many times do you think I answered this question for social services, huh? How many extra checks do you think I’m going to get with them breathing down my neck _all_ the time when I know that even on my _worst_ day I’m better than the fucked up system they represent? You are not the first person to think I might fuck up the kid, but you know what? You don’t _get_ to have that opinion! You haven’t got a _clue_ about all that shit in my file! You have barely known me a goddamn _week,_ Stiles!”

He cuts off his tirade as Eloise starts to sniffle.  

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters, reaching down for her.

Stiles takes her first, hugging her back to his chest to shush her and eyeing Isaac warily.

_You motherfucking son of a bitch don’t you fucking dare look at me like you’re scared to let me have her.  She’s mine! I would fucking die before I ever hurt her!_

“Give her to me,” Isaac says, voice low and deadly.

“Isaac, just calm down, okay? I’m not--”

“Give me my niece, and get the _fuck_ out of my house.”

“Isaac-”

“Get. Out.”

“ _Isaac,_ I didn’t mean-”

“So help me God, I will call the damn cops _right_ now.  I don’t care if you’re the sheriff’s kid or not.”

It’s a lie.  He knows better than to call the cops to the Lahey house to arrest the sheriff’s son.  Stiles must know what an empty threat it is, but it seems the sentiment is enough to weaken his resolve.  

“Talk to me,” he requests, loosening his hold on the infant though he doesn’t give her back just yet.  “Explain-”

“I don’t owe you an explanation for anything.”

“No, you don’t,” Stiles agrees, “but I really would like to understand, dude.  I didn’t mean for it to blow up; I’m not trying to say you don’t love the hell out of Eloise.  I just--it’s a little troubling without the whole story.”

_It’s still pretty damn troubling even with the whole story._

They stand in silence a moment or two more, and Isaac forces himself to take deep, even breaths.  Stiles really does look sorry he started this, and he fucking _should_ because you can’t just spring shit like this on people.  

“So will you talk to me? Or do you still just want me to get out?”

Isaac doesn’t answer immediately.  Part of him is screaming that Stiles might as well go now because he’s bound to leave sooner or later.  The other part can’t help but recognize that as pissed as Isaac may be right now, there is a grand total of two people in this world looking out for Eloise; and Isaac’s not sure he wants to go back to flying completely solo.  The whole “tag-team” thing has been pretty great.

“I don’t want you to get out,” Isaac admits finally.  “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Well, that’s--improvement from five minutes ago at least,” Stiles says with a forced smile.

“Can I just--what if I-- _fuck_.”

_How do you share a secret you’ve kept since you were twelve years old?_

“Hey, dude, I don’t want to stress you totally out here.  I just want to know where you’re coming from.”

“No one else knows this--well, I mentioned it to that anger management person, but I didn’t.  I’m not gonna fucking _share and care_ and all that shit about this.”

“Okay.”

“And you _can not_ tell anyone.”

“Promise not to tell anyone what you won’t tell me,” Stiles says with a small smile that Isaac doesn’t return; Stiles drops the joke quickly, “Sorry, sorry, I deflect with humor.  It’s totally not funny. I know.”

_I deflect with anger. I get it.  Even though yours is way more annoying._

“Seriously though, this can just be between you and me.  Swear.  Swear on my life--Eloise’s even.”

Isaac considers his sincerity a moment before nodding.  

“I’m just gonna show you something, okay?”

“Okay. Sure.  Leave Eloise in the bouncy seat?”

Isaac nods, “Won’t take long.”

He jerks his head to signal Stiles to follow toward the kitchen and the door Isaac hasn’t opened in years.  His hand shakes as he reaches for the knob, and he hopes that Stiles doesn’t notice.

“What? The basement?”

“Something in the basement,” Isaac expounds.  “It’ll make sense in a minute.”

He opens the door and stands at the top of the stairs.  It smells musty and damp and stale and _exactly_ like Isaac remembers.  All it takes is that first breath and he’s flailing backward, falling hard on his ass on the kitchen floor.  

“Whoa, Isaac, are you okay?”

He grits his teeth and nods, but it’s a lie.  He is so, _so_ incredibly not okay.  He’s shaking like a leaf, and he’s not sure he can bring himself to get back up right now, much less attempt to go down the stairs.

“What _is_ it?”

“You see--you see the--those holes in the wall right there?” he asks, going for a lesser version of what he was planning to show.  

“Yeah.”

“There used to be latches in the wall; ya know for like padlocks?  I ripped them out, but--there were three, when I was younger.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, drawing the word out in his obvious confusion.

“There were locks for me,” he expounds, “and Cam.”

“Locks for you and Cam,” Stiles repeats.  “To keep you out? Away from whatever you were gonna show me?”

Isaac shakes his head.  “To keep us _in._ ”

He sees the abject horror on Stiles’ face when he absorbs the statement.

“You got locked in the basement? Who did that? Your parents?”

“My dad.”

“Holy shit, Isaac; that’s--that is not-- _why_ would he--holy _shit_ ,” Stiles babbles, and the horror on his face is giving way to pity as he looks down at Isaac.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” Isaac asserts.  “You just wanted to know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I just-- _fuck_ , Isaac, you never told _anybody_?”

He shrugs.  “He was my dad.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Not talking about it,” Isaac reminds.  

“Right, just showing,” Stiles says. “That’s fine.  I appreci--hold on.  The locks weren’t what you were going to show me.  You opened the door for a reason.”

Isaac nods.  “Doesn’t matter. The locks--it’s--you get the idea.”

“I can go down by myself,” Stiles offers, “if you don’t want to.”

“I won’t stop you,” Isaac answers, avoiding the outright admittance that he can’t bring himself to descend into that still-too-familiar hell.

“Okay,” Stiles says, stepping to the doorway and flicking the light switch so that the dusty staircase is illuminated; the bulb at the bottom makes a clicking sound as it flickers, and for a minute Isaac thinks he might be sick.  “Am I looking for something in particular?”

“The freezer.”

Stiles’ eyes widen at the statement, but he doesn’t say anything further before disappearing slowly down the steps.  He sneezes two or three times on his way down, and Isaac can imagine the dust scattering among the junk and boxes down there.  Boxes of Mom’s stuff he longed to haul out for years, but now he can’t because he’s too damn pathetic to go down there; nevermind that Dad’s been six feet under for three years.  

_Why am I being such a fucking baby about this? I’m supposed to be a fucking grown-up._

He gets to his feet slowly, thinking he might go down after all, but just as he reaches the doorway he hears the crackle and pop sound of the vinyl seal breaking as Stiles opens the freezer, and he can _see_ what Stiles is seeing.  

Isaac can see the inside of the freezer; the rust red stains surrounding scratch marks.  He’d sworn every time that he wouldn’t panic, but the stale air always ran out so quickly, and it was _so_ dark in there, and what if Dad drank to much and forgot to come let him out? What if this is how it ends? cramped up in a freezer, suffocating and rotting away?  He can’t breathe, God he can’t breathe at all; it’s dark and quiet--too quiet--Dad’s gone, and he can’t get out of here on his own.  He’s gonna die in here. Oh, God; Oh, God. He’s going to die in here.  He can’t get out!

“Isaac!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I _swear_!” he sobs in reply, _so_ fucking relieved to have Dad’s hands hauling him out of his would-be coffin.

“Hey, it’s me; it’s Stiles, okay? Just breathe.  It’s a panic attack; that’s all.  You’re safe.  Come on, get up, back in the kitchen and away from the smell and sight and all that shit.  Come on.”

 _Stiles_ , he processes slowly as he moves with the hands guiding him to his feet and away from the basement doorway.   _Not Dad. Dad’s dead.  It’s Stiles,_ he remembers as he comes slowly back to the moment.  He gulps in grateful lungfuls of air as the scent of flowers overpowers the lingering musty smell of the basement.  

_Wait, flowers?_

He looks around and a burst of hysterical laughter escapes him to see Stiles spraying a can of air freshener all around Isaac like his life depends on it.  It’s just so absurd--a face that worried dancing around spraying everywhere, and Isaac can’t stop laughing--laughing until there are tears in his eyes, but he thinks maybe there were tears before the laughing started.

“Are you laughing at me?” Stiles wonders incredulously, and Isaac can’t draw enough breath to answer so he just nods, clutching his aching sides as the laughing continues to bubble out.  “I’ll have you know, I am the best air freshener dispenser the world has ever seen,” Stiles goes on.  “I take the position very seriously.”

Isaac doesn’t stop laughing for another solid minute or so, but when he finally, finally does, the weight of everything that just happened settles back around him.  

“You saw?” he asks finally, and Stiles nods.  

He doesn’t have that look of pity on his face anymore though; he looks pissed as hell.

_Good.  You get it now?  I couldn’t do anything to him either.  He was my dad.  I loved him. I depended on him.  He’d lost so much, and I was just a hard kid to handle--Cam too.  He did the best he could.  I had to get the frustration out somehow; me and Cam both did.  It helped.  Kept us from going nuts with it.  You see? You understand? I won’t be like that with Eloise.   There’s not so much anger there now that he’s gone.  It’s better._

“Thank you,” Stiles says, voice hitching just a bit.  

“Huh?”

“For sharing that.”

“I’m not gonna hurt her, not ever,” Isaac swears.  “And things are different with me now.”

“I believe you,” Stiles says earnestly, and Isaac nods.  

“So we’re good?”

_Still tag teaming? Not on my own with a baby again?_

“Yeah, we’re totally good.”

“Okay.”

 

*********************************************

            Stiles makes a run for Chinese, and Isaac still can’t quite believe it when he actually comes back.  Stiles read his record, wasn’t overly pissed that Isaac almost kicked him out, and didn’t run howling when he got an idea of all the baggage that comes with knowing Isaac.  He’s glad he does though, and he damn sure isn’t going to question it.  He’s starting to hope that Stiles really does intend to hang around a while.

            “You’re still quiet,” Isaac comments between mouthfuls of Lo Mein.

            “Thought you wouldn’t mind that,” Stiles replies.  “Most people say I talk too much.”

“I just don’t want what you saw downstairs to-”

            “I understand why you wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

            “And since all you can think about are a million questions you want to ask, you’re just not going to talk at all?”

            Stiles gives him a strained, apologetic smile and shrugs.  “I’m just a really curious kind of person.  I like questions. I like research. I like putting puzzles together.”

            “So I’m a puzzle?”

            “Kind of? But that’s totally not a bad thing, dude.  It means you’re interesting, ya know? It’s like a compliment.”

            _I’m not interesting.  How long is it going to take you to figure that out? A little while longer I hope._

“Can I ask one question?” Stiles wonders.  “It’s totally killing me.”

            Isaac considers for a moment before agreeing, “One.”

            “Why do you still want to live in this house?”

            “I don’t want to,” Isaac answers simply.  

            “But you do anyway?”

            “I was trying to sell it--Cam and I were going to split the profit; I was crashing with my friend Derek until we sold it and I could get another place.  But the market sucks; the neighborhood isn’t that great; the house isn’t in the best shape.”

            “And then Eloise,” Stiles adds.  

            “She’s the _only_ thing that could’ve made me come back here,” Isaac admits.  “We could’ve tried to stay in Cam’s house down in San Diego, but it’s not really a mortgage I could afford by myself, and I don’t know anybody down there.”

            _Not that I know anyone here really either, but I’ve got a job and a couple friends.  It’s not quite as bad as totally starting over._

“This house is paid off,” Isaac goes on.  “Dad used Mom’s life insurance to take care of the mortgage.”

            _It’s probably the only reason we didn’t lose the house.  It’s not like he was the best at bringing in steady paychecks._

“It was the responsible choice,” Stiles says.  “Good for you.”

            “I’m still selling it,” Isaac asserts.  “As soon as everything with Eloise is a little more settled, I’m getting it back on the market.  I’m not raising her here.  No fucking way.  I’ll burn it to the ground first.”

            “Yeah, definitely try to sell it before we start talking arson,” Stiles agrees with a grin, managing, as ever, to lighten Isaac’s mood with just a few words.

            “In the meantime, you know, if it made it--maybe easier, I could--ya know, nevermind,” Stiles babbles.

            “Huh?”

            “Nothing. I was going to offer to--but it’s dumb.  I’m dumb.  You’ve only known me like a week.”

            Isaac shrugs.  “And I just showed you a decade old secret,” he points out.  “We passed ‘normal’ a long way back--somewhere around the time I called the guy I barely knew to come sing my kid a lullaby at one in the morning.”

            Stiles laughs at that, and Isaac has to admit how much he’s come to love that sound.  It gets a smile on his own lips.  

            “Yeah, guess so.”

            “So what were you gonna say?”

            “Don’t get liked--freaked out, okay? You can totally, totally tell me ‘no’ and I won’t be made like at _all_.”

            “Be a lot easier to tell you ‘yes’ or ‘no’ if you actually ask me something.”

            “Well, okay, so here’s the thing,” Stiles begins, and Isaac holds back a sigh at the sure sign that he’s about to get a rambling story instead of a simple question; not that he _really_ minds Stiles’ rambling.  “My mom died when I was eleven, and we seriously thought about selling the house.  It was just--it was so _quiet_ somehow without her there, like there was just all this space that we couldn’t fill, even with me _and_ my dad there.”

            He pauses, and Isaac’s not sure what to say because ‘sorry to hear that’ doesn’t help anything.  Luckily Stiles continues on fairly quickly.

            “And I like can’t even _fathom_ living in the house without _anybody_ else there--not that Eloise doesn’t make plenty of noise when she’s in the mood--but just, this place _has_ to be full of ghosts and demons for you, man.  You shouldn’t have to deal with it on your own so much.”

            _Are you offering what I think you are?_

Isaac can’t be sure, so he shrugs and says honestly, “I do okay.  It’s just temporary.”

            “Right, but if--if you think--if I could maybe help with it a little? Like I mean, God knows I can sure are fuck fill some silence, and you’ve got to go back to work in a couple days.  It might make sense to just--I mean--you want a roommate? Stiles manages finally.  “Slash Manny?” he adds with a grin and small huff of laughter.  

            “Are you serious?”

            _Because if you’re not, you can dangle possibilities like that in front of me.  It makes so little sense for you to be this invested in us, but I’m so fucking thankful you are.  Don’t say shit like this to me if you don’t mean it._

“Yeah, dude, like 110%.  I can chip in for utilities and stuff with some of my living expense loans.”

            “Are you _sure_ you want to? I mean, you’re in college; you’re supposed to be-”

            “I living with my _dad_ ,” Stiles reminds, “who is also the fucking _sheriff._ Guess how much I get away with. I’m not exactly living the young bachelor big life or anything.”

            “Yeah, guess not.”

            “And it can totally be temporary if we want.  Like I could just give it a shot until you sell the house and find a new spot for you two.”

            “You can have the master bedroom; I don’t want it.  You don’t have to chip in for utilities, especially if you’re helping with Eloise.  I’d be forking out all kinds of money for decent daycare with her.  You’d be--it’d really be--”

            Words fail Isaac for a minute, and he’s dangerously close to letting just how badly he fucking _aches_ for an arrangement like this creep into the tone of his voice.

            “If it’s something you really wouldn’t mind doing, I would really fucking appreciate it,” he manages finally, retaining his general composure.

            “For real?” Stiles asks, face lighting up with his grin.  “That’s not like a really weird thing to ask or offer or whatever?”

            “People hire live-in nannies all the time, right?” Isaac supposes.  “Being the sheriff’s son is one hell of a character reference; plus Eloise likes you.”

            “Eloise _loves_ me,” Stiles corrects.  “Because I am like the _best_ baby whisperer ever.”

            “So we’re doing this? You’re really willing to do this?”

            _Because whatever reasons you give me, I’m still not going to fully understand why you would._

            “Hell yeah.  I’ll start packing my shit up tonight.  It’s not like there’s a lot to bring.  It’ll be easier to tag team with us both under the same roof anyway.  I was actually thinking about it, and with your hours being kinda flexible, we could totally do a weird schedule to get through the rest of the semester, and then if the house still hasn’t sold by the spring I’ll try to work it out so all my classes are in the mornings maybe? or a few online? and we could get like a more regular shift schedule thing going?”

_Holy shit you are super serious.  You’re actually moving in.  You’re thinking long term._

_The intelligent, funny, attractive, spastic stranger that I met a week ago is completely invested in helping me survive parenthood._

_How in God’s name am I possibly this lucky?_

_Well, I guess the tide was bound to turn again sometime,_ Isaac assumes with a smile.

 _This could really fucking work._                     

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Walking into a house packed with boxes is a surprise to say the least. Stiles knew they were sending Cam and Kara’s things to Isaac; he just didn’t know when. Stiles finds Isaac on the sofa, and judging by the calm look of shock on Isaac’s face, he didn’t know the stuff was coming today either. He’s pale as a ghost, staring unseeingly at the wall opposite him while absentmindedly rocking Eloise a bit in his arms. 

“So--uh--hey,” Stiles says since Isaac doesn’t greet him at all. 

Isaac turns like it’s the first time he’s realized anyone came it. It’s another moment or two before his eyes focus and he answers, “Hey.”

“Lot of boxes,” Stiles comments. “It’s going to take a while to-”

“We’re not going through them,” Isaac informs matter-of-factly. “There are boxes marked with her name on them, I had them put the baby furniture in the nursery. Everything else we’re moving to the basement.”  
“Isaac, maybe if you just take it a box at a time.”

“Everything that isn’t Eloise’s goes to the basement,” Isaac repeats, unyielding. “Can you take her? I should get changed for work.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m surrounded by my dead brother’s shit while holding the daughter he was supposed to raise,” Isaac snaps back. “What the fuck do you think?” 

“Call in to work. We’ll hang out, or--”

“You really want to help?”

“Of course I do. I-”

“Then call Scott or your Dad or whoever the hell will come to help you, and have all the extra boxes in the basement before I get home. Use the cash in the my top dresser drawer to get pizza as a thank you to whoever helps you.”

“Isaac-”

“I need to get to work.”

“It’s okay to feel-”

“I don’t fucking want to talk to you about this, Stiles! I just need to get going for work.”

Stiles takes Eloise from Isaac's arms as he rises to leave for work, and Stiles stares at the back of a quickly retreating Isaac until Eloise fusses in his arms, drawing his attention away from the slamming front door.

*****************************************************

The boxes of stuff seem endless, and there are a _ton_ of boxes marked “Baby.” Stiles is more than a little overwhelmed as he begins opening boxes.

_Well, Isaac did say to call whoever._

He dials Scott first to bribe him with pizza to come help with the heavy lifting. His second call is naturally Lydia Martin.

“Hey, Stiles?”

“Have I mentioned lately how pretty and smart and awesome you are?”

“What do you want?”

“I need a favor.”

“I already figured that part out. What do you want?” she repeats. 

“Tell me you’re not in New York or somewhere doing awesome model-y designer-y things.”

“Not until Thursday,” she replies. 

“So you’re in Beacon Hills?”

“Maybe. What do you want?”

“Um--so you know the whole baby situation I’ve got going?”

“That you had a love at first sight moment with a stranger in Target and now you’re helping him raise his dead brother’s kid and should be gunning for a Lifetime Original Movie based on your story.”

“I am not in love with him; the guy has literally no family left, and the baby is cute.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“And the baby is why I’m calling.”

“I am in no way interested in childcare, Stiles. Call a sitter.”

“No, not that. Her stuff is here--like all the stuff from her nursery with her parents, and I am like so fucking in need of some assistance here. You know it’s going to look like a disaster if I do it, and that would be kind of a shame since judging by all the cute shit here her mother clearly spent some serious time on putting together decorations and all. Isaac wants me to take care of it before he gets home so--”

“Fine. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“You are the _best_ , Lydia.”

“I’m aware,” she replies with a grin Stiles can hear through the phone before the line goes dead.

******************************************************

Isaac stops short when he walks in the door to see Lydia, Scott, Allison, Kit, Stiles, and Eloise gathered in the living room with an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on in the background. Stiles can’t quite read the expression on his face; he doesn’t look pissed though, so that’s good.

“Uh--hi,” Stiles says. “So, um, you’ve met Scott,” Stiles says, “and you’ve met Social Worker McCall, but this is regular Allison now,” he adds with a gesture to the two of them.

It had been more than a little weird to realize his best-friend-in-law was Eloise’s social worker, but it had actually put Isaac at ease a little; it kind of stands to reason that if Allison trusts Stiles to be Kit’s Godfather then she should feel good about Stiles helping with Eloise. She even said as much, before promptly filing a “conflict of interest” form to change who’d be checking up on Isaac every couple months for the next year.

“And this is Lydia, another friend of mine from high school. She kinda helped me sort out the nursery and baby clothes craziness.”

“Kind of?” Lydia scoffs. “You were _pathetic_ , Stiles.”

“At least I admit it and hand over the reins to someone who knows what she’s doing.”

“It’s true. The nursery looks fabulous,” Lydia assures. “Your sister-in-law had some _excellent_ design instincts.”

“Oh--I, uh--thanks?” Isaac answers, still frozen in the same spot he’s been for a solid five minutes now.

“You want some pizza? We had plenty leftover. It’s on the kitchen counter.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Isaac seems more than happy to take the excuse to all but flee the living room. Stiles gets up to follow, worried now that Isaac hadn’t meant what he said about having people over. He’s not exactly the social butterfly kind of guy, and maybe this wasn’t the day to fill his living room with Stiles’ friends--not that they don’t want to be Isaac’s too eventually. 

“How was work?” Stiles asks as Isaac plates a couple pieces of pepperoni pizza and sticks in in the microwave.

“Same old, same old,” Isaac replies with a shrug. “Fine.”

_God, it must really suck to get all your brother’s old shit and then go to work at the fucking cemetery. How do you do that?_

_Guess there’s not really a whole lot of choice, huh?_

“I think everyone was just leaving,” Stiles says. “I’ll--uh--nudge them along if you don’t really feel like company. I should have texted to warn you or ask or something but-”

“It’s fine, Stiles. Go hang out. I’m just--I think I’m gonna just scarf this and maybe call it an early night.”

“Oh, okay.”

“If you’ll put her to bed, I’ll get up for the midnight bottle,” he offers. 

“Sure; that’s fine. Are you sure that you’re--”

“I’m fine,” Isaac says tiredly, turning from Stiles to take his plate out of the microwave. “Just don’t want to talk about it; there’s nothing to say. My brother’s dead, and it sucks. That’s all.”

_No, it’s not._

_And one day you’re going to have to talk about all this shit you bottle up._

“Well, if you change your mind…”

“I won’t.”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles replies defensively. “Sheesh.”

“I didn’t mean--thanks for giving a shit, okay? But just let it go, Stiles.”

“Yeah, sure, sorry.”

Isaac pauses just before he leave she kitchen and adds, “Thank you for taking care of the boxes. I know it’s my responsibility, but-”

“Tag team,” Stiles reminds. “No worries, dude; I totally get it.”

“Night.”

“G’night.”

*****************************************************

It’s not until he writes the date at the top of his notes paper in philosophy that Stiles realizes it’s the one month anniversary of moving in with Isaac and Eloise. It’s weird really, because it seems like time has flown by, and yet he feels like they’ve been part of his life for forever. It wasn’t exactly seamless to work out their schedules, especially with Stiles’ classes being a bit all over the place, but they make it work. Dad’s warmed up to the idea, and he’s even helped babysit a few times when Stiles was in a bind with a class running over or a paper due.

He grabs his phone from his bag, considering texting Isaac under the table. He aborts the plan when Dr. Kimble glares at him. Probably for the best, he’s still trying hard to seem casual and not at all clingy with the whole moving in thing. Isaac’s not crazy about letting people get close, and Stiles is more or less constantly paranoid that he’s going to freak out and balk one day. Admitting that he’s counting the days he’s been a permanent ( _at least semi-permanent_ ) fixture in the casa de Lahey would potentially throw up a red flag or two. 

That’s why when he arrives home three hours later to find a container of half a dozen cupcakes on the table, Stiles feigns ignorance.

“Special occasion?” he wonders as he tosses his bookbag on the floor by the table. 

Isaac gives his characteristic I-don’t-entirely-know-what-to-say shrug. “Not really.”

Stiles hopes it doesn’t show in his face that he’s a little disappointed at the answer, but then Isaac goes on, “Month of life with a kid and you haven’t bailed, so--ya know--figured that earns a couple cupcakes.”

His face is carefully neutral, but Stiles can’t repress his pleased grin. Isaac mirrors it soon enough.

“A couple?” he repeats. “I count six, dude; that means I get five, right? _If_ I’m feeling generous enough to share _any_.”

“Asshole,” Isaac mutters.

“Thank you,” Stiles says. “You didn’t have to do anything or anything, but, ya know--I’ll take any excuse for cupcakes.”

“Me too,” Isaac says, reaching for the container.

“Gonna spoil your dinner.”

“Benefit of being the only adults in the house; we make the rules,” Isaac replies. “Gotta make the most of it before she’s old enough to call us on the double standard.”

“You make a fair point, sir,” Stiles agrees, grabbing a cupcake of his own.

Isaac tackles his exuberantly, getting the bright blue icing all over his top lip. Isaac flicks his tongue up to take care of the mess, and Stiles has the sudden thought of what it might be like to be able to lean over and lick it off himself. He pushes the thought away as soon as it’s registered. There’s too much going on here for Stiles to start throwing even more complications into Isaac’s life. Besides, they’ve only known each other a month. It’s not like Stiles really even knows what he wants. They’re just in close quarters, and Isaac’s unfairly attractive. He was bound to think something like this eventually.

_But it doesn’t mean anything. We’re just friends. Just a tag-team._

_That’s all. That’s enough._

_Just friends._

*************************************

“Okay, so I have a _huge_ favor to ask,” Stiles says when he walks in from school. 

“Is it a _quick_ favor? Because you’re kinda late, and I gotta get going if I’m going to finish work before--”

“I need you to dress up as Sully for Halloween,” Stiles blurts, like it’s going to make the idea sound any less insane.

“The chick off X-Files? Why the hell would I--”

“No, no, that’s _Scully_.”

“Then who the hell is Sully?”

“Um--the blue furry one on Monsters, Inc.”

“The what?”

“Oh, come on; that adorable Pixar movie thing? It was awesome.”

“I didn’t really watch a whole lot of movies as a kid,” Isaac says. “Think I missed that one.”

“Actually, it--uh--we were--you know what, doesn’t matter,” Stiles says, blushing scarlet at the prospect of admitting just how many Pixar movies he happily watched far beyond his childhood years. “I just need you to dress up for Halloween, okay? We’re gonna do a family costume.”

“No fucking way, dude,” Isaac replies without missing a beat. “I will be the grouchy house that no one wants to go too because I buy truly horrible and cheap candy--or maybe healthy shit. We are not going to _those_ people.”

“What’s wrong with being ‘those people’?” Stiles wonders defensively.

“Not even justifying that with an answer, man. I gotta get going. She’s been down about fifteen minutes or so, you’ve got some time before she starts screaming for her dinner.”

“We’re debating this more when you get home.”

“Nothing to debate, Stiles.”

_This is going to take some serious bribery…_

********************************************************

Stiles isn’t the world’s greatest chef or anything, but he _does_ make a mean crispy chicken casserole, with biscuits on top just to seal the deal. Isaac _flipped_ over how great it was last time Stiles made it, and Stiles figures it can’t hurt to have it on the table when Isaac gets in from work. Normally Stiles wouldn’t wait to eat with him, since it’s nearly nine, but tonight he’s got to put as many things in his favor as possible if he’s got any hope of saving his winning streak of bets against Scott-- _and_ his fifty bucks.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Isaac says, “ _and_ you cooked.”

Stiles is feeling pretty hopeful until Isaac’s smile fades into a hard line and his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“I’m still not dressing up as some fucking blue monster for Halloween,” he informs curtly.

“What? I can’t be nice to you without agenda?” Stiles asks with mock offense. 

“ _Stiles._ ”

“Okay, just hear me out while you shove your face full of the delicious food that I totally slaved over to make even after an _awful_ day at school and--”

“You like cooking; I bought the groceries; I dig fucking graves for a living,” Isaac counters succinctly. “You’re not getting leverage off this.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Lahey.”

“It’s not a bargain; there is no way in hell I’m going to--”

“Phase two!” Stiles announces, sliding a piece of notebook paper across the table.

“Dishes for a month; diaper duty for two weeks; forfeit remote rights for a week,” Isaac reads off. “What is this?”

“What’s it look like? I’m bribing you into cooperation.”

“With chores?”

“Don’t pretend it’s not tempting. You _hate_ dishes.”

“Hate laundry more.”

“See item six.”

“Only a week?”

“Do you _realize_ how much laundry that little poop monster generates in a week? Not to mention _your_ disgusting work clothes.”

“Thus, the reason I hate laundry,” Isaac replies. “Why do you care this much? There’s something way more important to you than Halloween here, isn’t there?”

“Maybe I just like Halloween a _lot_ ,” Stiles proposes.

“Maybe, but there _is_ something else, isn’t there?” Isaac persists.

Stiles sighs in defeat. “Yes.”

“I cannot _wait_ to hear what could _possibly_ convince you to coordinate a family costume.”

“So I kind of made this bet with Scott,” Stiles admits.

“I _really_ should have seen that answer coming. Looks like you’re losing the bet, man, because-”

“He and Allison are totally doing a family thing with Kit and of _course_ I gave him shit for it, and then he goes on about how it’s going to be _great_ and we couldn’t pull off anything _half_ as awesome as theirs, and you _know_ how competitive I get, and--”

“And Scott totally suckered you into a bet so he wouldn’t be the only one trapped in a family costume on Halloween.”

“I wouldn’t say he _suckered_ me.” Isaac rolls his eyes and Stiles concedes, “Okay, yeah, he totally suckered me, but I cannot _stand_ losing bets, Isaac. It’s fifty bucks! _Plus_ it’s a matter of pride.”

“A matter of pride to be a grown ass man in a little kid Halloween costume.”

“It’ll be _awesome_ , Isaac; it’s really not that bad.”

“Sure. Show me a picture of these monster things you expect us all to be.”

“Well, it’s--just--keep an open mind.”

“Picture. Now.”

Stiles obliges via a quick google images search on his phone. He turns the screen toward Isaac who barks out a laugh.

“You seriously expect me to dress up like some Cookie Monster looking guy--”

“Hey, okay, James P. Sullivan is _way_ cooler than the _Cookie Monster_.”

“Stiles, this is _not_ going to happen. Give Scott the fifty bucks, walk away with your dignity. You’ll live.”

Stiles is _just_ about to launch into phase three of his plan, which involves a guilt trip about Eloise, when it clicks that Isaac didn’t need to be informed which of the three monsters in the picture was Sully.

“You, sir, are a lying liar who _lies_!” Stiles accuses gleefully with a finger in Isaac’s face.

“What?”

“You know _exactly_ who Sully is! You have _so_ seen Monsters, Inc; admit it!”

“What the hell are you-”

“Admit it!”

“You’re insane, Stiles.”

“And _you_ Mr. Macho, too-cool-for-kids’-movies, are a Pixar fan! _Aren’t_ you?”

“I didn’t actually pay money to see it, okay? We used to sneak in all the time to throw popcorn at people and _maybe_ one of the movies was-”

“HA! _Got_ you!”

“You did not _get_ me. I just _happen_ to remember the one random character from-”

“Let’s add me not announcing to anyone and everyone we ever meet that Isaac Lahey loves Pixar to the bribe list,” Stiles suggests. “Good luck maintaining _any_ kind of pride with that, tough guy.”

“Stiles, it is _not_ that big of a deal; you aren’t going to blackmail me into-”

“You’re going to give in eventually. I’m just that persistent.”

“That _annoying_.”

“Point still stands. It’s only a matter of time before you crumble.”

Isaac frowns deeply, crossing his arms and surveying the chore list before him. 

“ _Three_ weeks of laundry,” he says, “ _And_ grocery shopping for three weeks _and_ everything else on the list.”

“Two weeks of laundry; two grocery shopping; but throw in dinner twice a week for a month.”

“Done.”

“Done?”

“I’m going to fucking regret it, but it’s better than getting arrested for murdering the sheriff’s overly insistent son.”

“Oh, _so_ going to regret it,” Stiles agrees, “but thank you!”

“No, thank _you_ ,” Isaac replies, spearing his next bite of casserole and devouring it with a grin. “It’s about to be an easy few weeks.”

“You suck.”

“Watch it, Wazowski,” Isaac teases with a grin that makes Stiles’ heart give an odd sort of leap in his chest that he determinedly ignores.

 

*******************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague_Shadows and I were thinking of putting together a Pinterest board so everyone can see what we think Eloise's clothes, nursery, and other cute baby things look like. Let us know if you'd like that and we'll add a link to the end of the chapters.


	6. Chapter 6

“Okay, what d’you think?” Stiles wonders, and Isaac can’t hold in an absolutely uproarious laugh.

“You look like a fucking over-sized tennis ball,” he replies when he finally catches his breath.

“Fuck you. You look like the Cookie Monster.”

“And I’m sweating my balls off,” Isaac complains.

“Well, that sounds painful.”

“For the love of God at least tell me Eloise looks cute?”

“Dude, she looks fucking adorable; as always,” Stiles assures.  “And Scott just texted to say he and Allison and Christopher are on their way over, so here’s hoping no poop explosions and/or milk puke ruins this before they arrive and we blow their costume out of the water.”

“We better fucking win this bet.”

“Hey, I’m even more invested than you; win or lose I still lost all the bribe chores.”

“I have to admit it’s been a pretty excellent couple weeks.”

The cry from Eloise pulls their attention back to the nursery.  She’s attempting to gum the tentacle off of her costume.  Stiles says he thinks she’s starting to teethe, but the books all said that wouldn’t start until she was six months old so Isaac’s not as sure.  Of course, he’s learning more and more that absolutely _nothing_ with a baby is definite.  

The doorbell rings announcing the first of the tricker treaters, and Stiles rushes for the door.  Isaac glances in the mirror in the hall, admitting at least mentally that this costume isn’t quite as bad as he expected it to be, and Stiles _did_ do all the work like he promised.  There are worse favors he could have called in.  

They open the door to see a tiny tiger and moose waiting with their parents.  It’s the first of a fairly constant line of kids, and everyone’s smiling like this is the most normal thing.   Like this isn’t the first time in nine years the Lahey house has given any indication whatsoever that it’s welcoming.  It’s nice, having the neighbors smile and compliment the decorations Stiles has littered throughout the front yard and comment on how precious Eloise is and what a cute family they make in their costumes.  More than one person comments on what a cute couple he and Stiles make--and he lets Stiles correct them, trying to keep as neutral a face as possible.   They actually run out of candy, and Stiles runs to the kitchen to search for more.  He returns with his stash of Sno-balls.   _That’s_ when Isaac _really_ understands just how much Stiles loves Halloween.

“Dude, no one loves those things but you,” Isaac says.

“They are _delicious_.”

“Disgusting.”

“We are not having this argument _again_. It’s better than the house getting egged because the munchkins don’t get their treats.”  

“No one is going to egg the haunted Lahey house.  It’ll be fine.”

“The what?” Stiles asks, but he’s interrupted by a Thomas the Train and two ninja turtles so the question falls to the wayside.  

Isaac’s more than a little pleased to see several kids either make a face at the Sno-balls or decline them entirely.  Stiles gives him a glare for every snicker that escapes Isaac’s lips, so in the end he just retreats back to the living room with Eloise.  By the time the evening winds down due to lack of treats to give, Isaac’s back in his usual sweatpants and white t-shirt and Eloise is changed into her pajamas.  Isaac is never going to admit how much he loves the adorable outfits this kid has; between Cara and Lydia Eloise is a seriously stylish little baby.  God help her when she gets older because Isaac’s got absolutely no idea how to deal with shopping for prom dresses and getting her hair fixed and--shit he’s going to have to braid and do the nail polish thing and hair bows and frilly lace socks and high heel shoes and--

“Dude, you look like you _actually_ saw a ghost,” Stiles says when he comes into the nursery where Isaac’s rocking Eloise as she takes her bedtime bottle.  

“Just--ya know--thinking,” Isaac replies.  “How I’m totally in over my head.  I don’t know how to do girl stuff.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Stiles assures with a shrug, “and if not we’ll call Lydia.”

Isaac ignores the way his heart stutters when Stiles says “we’ll”.  

_He loves Eloise; how could he not? It doesn’t mean anything for me.  It’s about the baby._

_but that’s okay._

“So admit it, the costumes weren’t _that_ bad,” Stiles goes on.  

“You still lost your bet.”

“Dude, Allison got Scott into a Peter Pan costume that included _tights_.  If that’s what it takes to win, more power to him.”

“I expected you to be a much sorer loser.”

“Again, his wife talked him into wearing _tights_ for the night; my end of things doesn’t look so bad in comparison.”

“It was pretty good,” Isaac admits with a bit of a smile, “even if you do look like a tennis ball.”

“Hey, the lady across the street said I was adorable.”

Isaac chuckles lightly. “Maybe we finally killed the haunted Lahey house bullshit,” he supposes.  

_Mom would be glad of that._

“Your house is haunted? Dude, you never told me that! Was it like--supposedly built on indian burial grounds or--” Stiles stops mid-sentence and grits his teeth in an awkward smile.  “Not your mom was it? That's just fucking mean, dude.  We will go egg houses right now if-”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

“They--uh--after Mom died some dumb kids started joking about how her ghost was in our basement because they could hear her through the grates.”

Stiles’ face falls; he looks a bit like he might be sick, and Isaac knows he’s put two and two together.

“It wasn’t a ghost screaming down there, was it?”

“No,” Isaac answers quietly.  

“Well, tonight was good so--uh--yeah I think we--ya know--cleared that up and all,” Stiles says with forced cheer.  

“Yeah.”

The silence between them grows nearly unbearable, and Isaac searches desperately for anything to say to break it.  Stiles saves them, pulling his phone from his back pocket.  

“Did you see the pictures Allison took of us?” he wonders.  “I know you were kind of distracted manning the hoard that came to the door right after.”

“No, I didn’t see.”

“Looks pretty legit, for ya know, cheesy homemade costumes.”

“Lemme see.”

Stiles holds the phone out obligingly, allowing Isaac to take in the sight of the three of them standing in the living room.  His chest tightens as he realizes exactly why so many people tonight called them a couple or a family.  They _look_ like they belong together.  They look happy and dorky and just _right_ and it makes Isaac ache all over to have the picture in front of him like it’s actually some kind of permanent possibility or something.

“Pretty good, huh?” Stiles supposes, and Isaac nods his agreement, afraid of what his voice could betray if he speaks aloud.  “I'll send it to you," Stiles offers, and Isaac's phone pings the notification shortly after

And if Isaac prints the picture and puts it on the dash of the backhoe at work, well that's nobody's fucking business but his.

 

*********************************************

 

“So you get some time off next week, right?” Stiles wonders.  “I mean I know people don’t stop dying because it’s a Holiday, but funeral homes shut down, so you get time off?”

“Yeah,” Isaac answers.  “Thursday and Friday.  Why?”

“Because it’s Thanksgiving, and Melissa’s bound to call in the next day or so to try and coordinate.”

“Oh, yeah, sure;  I can handle Eloise whichever day you want to--”

“Dude, you’re _invited_. Don’t be a dumbass.”

“I don’t really do holidays.”

“Says the man who dressed as a giant blue--”

“It was a _bet_ and you _bribed_ me,” Isaac grumbles.  

“So what? I’m going to have to bribe you into participating in every holiday?  Not cool.”

“I just don’t see what the big deal is. I haven’t bothered with Thanksgiving in years, so--”

“Then you’re _way_ overdue,” Stiles informs, “plus you can’t just let Eloise miss her first Thanksgiving.  So what if she can’t actually eat anything festive except maybe some mashed up pumpkin or something; it’s still her first.”

Isaac has no argument for that, glancing at the drooling infant happily batting at the stuffed owls on her play mobile on the living room floor.   _She should have all the normal family stuff,_ Isaac reminds himself, _and tagging along with the Stilinski-McCall families for as long as we can is probably our best bet._

“Yeah, okay, but we both know I’m a shitty cook.  Don’t volunteer us to take anything complicated.”

“ _I’m_ not a shitty cook,” Stiles reminds.

“You’re out of your mind with end of semester projects.  You’ll get all stressed that they’re due and shove it off on me and we’ll show up with the most disgusting side dish known to man,” Isaac supposes.  “Volunteer us for Stouffer’s mac and cheese or something.”

“Lazy.”

“ _Realistic_ ,” Isaac corrects.

_And twelve years out of practice on holidays…_

 

*****************************************

 

Thanksgiving Day they show up to the Stilinski house just before noon.  Isaac was right; Stiles is practically a zombie after the hours he pulled to get all his assignments in before break, and Isaac made the food this morning: macaroni and cheese and a bag of rolls Isaac picked up at the store on a whim.  The sheriff greet them at the door with a welcoming smile.

“Hey, boys, come on in,” he beckons, offering his hand as he continues, “Glad you two could join us, Isaac,” he says warmly, as though there was anywhere else Isaac would have had to go.   Isaac shakes the man’s hand, noting the iron don’t-fuck-with-my-son grip and slight glare, and moves past him on into the house.  He was banking on using Eloise as an excuse to avoid interaction, but it’s clear within ten seconds that’s not going to happen.  

“There’s my girl!” Lydia says, plucking her from Isaac’s arms.  “Don’t you look adorable in that outfit.  You must have an auntie with _excellent_ taste,” she goes on, praising herself since everyone in the room knows where all Eloise’s adorable outfits generally come from.  

Isaac’s kind of glad for it though.  Everything Cara had bought her daughter was stylish and cute and much more that Isaac would think to put together on his own.  He thinks Cara would definitely approve of Lydia’s doting.

“Any bets on how long before the outfit succumbs to spit up, cereal, and pumpkin smash?” Stiles wonders.  

“Good point,” Allison says.  “We better get pictures of the kids before they’re a mess.  Scott, grab Kit so I can get the camera?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, hon.”

“Melissa found the cutest idea on Pinterest,” Allison informs as she digs through the diaper bag.  “You get a big pumpkin and gut it so you can roast the seeds, but the _main_ thing is you cut two little leg holes for the kids and sit them down in it for a fall picture!”

“Yeah, given how much she loves her high chair that’s _sure_ to be a winner,” Stiles says sardonically.  

Eloise loathes being trapped in her highchair.  They gave up the battle and use the bumpo instead;  logically they shouldn’t seem that different to the kid, but apparently high chair is synonymous with evil torture device to his niece.

“Well, it’s worth a shot,” Allison says.  “Maybe it’ll go okay.  Go grab the pumpkin from the kitchen, would you, Stiles?”

“Sure.”

“Can I--uh--help with anything?” Isaac offers, unsure what the fuck to do with Stiles gone and Eloise in Lydia’s arms.  

“No, I think I’m good.  Just come out and make faces behind me so maybe she’ll smile for the camera.”

“Okay, but that’s--ah--really more Stiles’ department,” Isaac teases with a laugh that’s a bit forced but Allison joins him anyway.  

Maybe she’s not Eloise’s case worker anymore, but she still makes Isaac nervous.  Stiles reminds him over and over to just relax with her--with all of his friends for that matter.  The fact of it is, Isaac spent so much time pushing everyone away for fear of them finding out the truth about Dad that he’s just about forgotten how to let anyone get close.  He enjoys hanging on the fringes though, being a fly on the wall to experience the happy memories they all seem to make with so little effort.  

He tries not to get caught up in how much he feels _part_ of things, like he and Eloise could belong here.  Melissa asks him to help her get all the dishes in the kitchen to the table.  He takes the empty chair beside Stiles who’s holding Eloise on his knee rather than get out any apparatus to hold her while she’s fed.  Those pictures Allison took were absolutely adorable, and Isaac knows already that he’ll be adding a print of it to the dash of the backhoe at work.  They bow their heads as the sheriff says Grace, and then Scott interrupts his mother before she can start speaking in the silence after.

“Mom, we are _not_ doing the awkward thankful thing,” he insist.  “Every year you make us--”

“And this year is _no_ different,” she replies.  “Same rules apply as every year; tell what you’re thankful for or no dessert.”

Scott huffs, glaring, and Allison elbows him in the ribs, hissing, “Scott, it’s _Thanksgiving_.”

“Okay fine.  Thankful for Allison and Kit and I dunno--all the other good stuff we’ve got in our lives,” he declares.

Isaac realizes now they must all be expected to speak.  He’s with Scott; it seems cheesy and ridiculous, but he can’t be rude and refuse.  

“I’m thankful for Scott and Kit,” Allison says, “and getting to spend the Holiday with so many people we care about and consider family,” she goes on, looking to ISaac, “especially Isaac and Eloise; we’re all so glad to have you celebrating with us,” she says with an earnest smile, and the group murmurs agreement; the attention makes Isaac feel like every eye is on him, and he ducks his head back down toward his plate as he says a quiet, “Thanks.”  

“I’m thankful that my parents flew off to Paris for the holiday so I’m not stuck spending it with them,” she says, but Isaac swears there a little bit of bitterness behind the aloof statement.  “And I’m _really_ thankful that those two idiots have the good sense to let me handle Eloise’s wardrobe,” Lydia jokes with a smile to Isaac and Stiles, “and for all of you, too, of course,” she says to the table at large.

_Joke. That’s a good idea.  Keep it light_ , Isaac thinks as attention turns to him and he’s expected to speak.

“Uh--guess I’m thankful that the stranger on the baby supply aisle was dumb enough to write his number down for me, and then dumb enough to answer when I called at midnight totally losing my mind, and then dumb enough to move in with us and take on diaper duty,” Isaac teases but the words all come out sounding way more sincere than he meant, and the look Stiles gives him--meeting Isaac’s eyes like he can see straight fucking into his soul and understand the _real_ depth of Isaac’s gratitude--makes Isaac’s chest ache with something he’s terrified to think about.

“And that Melissa is an awesome cook because me and Stiles can only manage like eight legitimate meals between us, and they’re getting pretty old,” he pushes on, managing a much more jovial tone this time, “and for everybody here to help take cute pictures of Eloise on her first Thanksgiving,” he finishes with a smile to Allison; she’s got tears welling in her eyes so he looks away, trying not to hate her for the pity that’s surely underlying her happiness for him.

“Stiles,” Melissa prompts, and Isaac turns toward him to find Stiles still staring at him silently, mouth open just slightly, and he shakes his head as though to clear it before answering.

“Basically what--ah--Isaac said,” Stiles stammers, and Isaac has to smile at the rare sight of Stiles struggling for words.  “I mean about--ya know--meeting him so I can help with Eloise and stuff,” he goes on, turning attention to Eloise as he bounces his knee a bit and coos, “And you’re grateful for your Stiles right? ‘Cause I the most awesome dude you’re ever gonna know.”

_Meeting him so I can help with Eloise_ , Isaac repeats in his mind, just a little wounded to be reminded that Stiles’ interest with him really lies in his attachment to the baby.  He keeps his expression neutral enough though, and the turn falls to Melissa next.

“Well, I’m grateful for meeting a wonderful man whom I love,” she says with a smile too ridiculous for such simple words.  “And I’m grateful that this morning he asked me to marry him,” she finishes.

The room falls to dead silence for one frozen moment and then erupts again in a raucous round of “congratulations” and “about time” and “holy shit we’re going to be _actual_ brothers now” type statements.  Isaac says congratulations along with the others, but mostly he just smiles as he watches Melissa’s eyes dance in delight as she laughs with John over the family’s reactions; he remembers when his parents used to look like that, and he hopes they’re going to be just as happy.  

“And I’m even _more_ grateful that she actually said ‘yes’,” the sheriff adds, completing the circle of statements.  

“Do you have a date yet?” Allison wonders excitedly.  “A place?”

“He better just run to the courthouse before she changes her mind,” Stiles teases.  

“I was thinking--well, we need to talk it all out, I guess,” Melissa replies, catching herself before she speaks for John without some discussion.

“Honestly, Melissa, as long as you’re the one coming down the aisle, I’m not too particular about the details,” John informs with an adoring smile.  

“Then we’re going to think about a beach wedding,” Melissa says, beaming back at him.  “Maybe in the Spring?” she adds, and he nods his general agreement.  “I was actually hoping that Allison and Lydia would help plan it? Nothing big, just a little--”

“Leave it to us,” Lydia says immediately.  “It will be fabulous.”

“But _affordable_ ,” Melissa emphasizes.  “And small please?”

“Whatever you want,” Allison says.  “We’re here to help.”

The conversation stays on wedding talk for a while, and Isaac lets it fade to white noise as he gorges himself on the fantastic food before them.  He eats until he feels like he’s going to burst.  The turkey was deliciously juicy, and someone in the families gathered here clearly doesn’t believe in anything frozen or packaged, because everything tastes incredibly fresh, lightly seasoned with butter and salt. Isaac is on his third helping of baked white wine stuffing when Eloise falls asleep on Stiles’ lap, the tiny spoons of mashed potato he gave her apparently tuckering her out.

When Stiles leaves the table to set her up with a sleeping Kit in the living room, the rest of the table gets up soon after. Allison and Scott are packaging leftovers with Melissa while Lydia sits on the counter with a pad of paper, taking down wedding notes as they chat. Scott gives up almost immediately, joining Stiles in the living room with the babies.

Isaac offers to help wash up afterwards, thinking it’ll be a solitary task, but John joins him at the sink, picking up a dish towel and drying the dishes once Isaac rinses.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile, wondering if his nervousness shows.

Like with Allison, Isaac knows he theoretically has nothing to fear from the sheriff, but he’s still an authority figure who could cause serious trouble for Isaac with Eloise; it puts him on edge, especially since the sheriff is more than likely the spark that ignited Stiles’ curiosity about Isaac’s past.  

“No problem,” he replies with a smile.  “I’m glad you and Eloise could join us today.”

“Me too.  It’s been really nice.”

The silence that falls between them is broken only by the spash of the water and the rush of the tap.  He wonders what in the world he might say to Stiles’ dad, but he decides against saying anything.

_Don’t want to fuck up a good day._

“Isaac, I don’t really know how to say this exactly,” the sheriff starts finally, and Isaac’s chest seizes in panic.

_You don’t like Stiles living with us? You don’t think I’m taking good enough care of Eloise? Oh, God, what the fuck awful thing are you about to tell me?_

“Nothing to worry about though,” he assures, no doubt noting Isaac’s fear-wide eyes.  “Just, I don’t want to sound condescending or patronizing, but I feel it’s going to come across that way.”

“Whatever it is, it’s fine,” Isaac says, now thoroughly confused but curious.

“Well, I know--you and your brother were--well, you two--you were a bit--”

“We were hellions,” Isaac finishes.  “I know.  You can say it.”

The sheriff doesn’t say it aloud, but he nods his agreement to the statement.  

“I’ll admit I had my doubts when Stiles said you were adopting your brother’s little girl.  I wasn’t so sure about the whole situation or that I wanted my son involved in it, but I just--I wanted to say that I was wrong to draw those kind of conclusions about you.  I didn’t know the whole story behind your actions, and even if I had, I shouldn’t judge you now based on what you were like more than six years ago.  I’m proud of the way you’ve turned yourself around and the way you look after Eloise,” he says earnestly, and yeah maybe it’s a little patronizing, but it’s also pretty damn flattering.  “You should be proud of yourself,” he adds, “and I just thought somebody ought to say that to you.”

“I--uh--thanks--I really--that’s--yeah, thanks,” Isaac stammers, apparently unable to form coherent sentences in the wake of such kind words from a man he barely knows, who knows so little about--

_Wait._

“You said you didn’t know the whole story,” Isaac says, more sharply than he means to but he goes on anyway, “like you _do_ know it now.  What did Stiles tell you?” he demands, furious that Stiles would betray his trust like this when he _knows_ that--

“Not much,” the sheriff admits.  “Just that your family had a rough time after your mother passed.  That’s literally the only thing he said to me.”

“Oh,” Isaac says, “I--uh--sorry if I--”

“Everyone grieves differently,” the sheriff replies.  “When Stiles’ mother--we--we didn’t have such smooth sailing there for a while either.  You do all kinds of things when you’re trying to move past losing people you love.  I understand that.”

_You don’t understand the half of it._

“That’s why I wanted to say that you should be proud you were able to get yourself back on track.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And--uh--it’s really been good for Stiles, rooming with you and helping with Eloise; keeps him busy--out of his unending shenanigans.  I’m glad he’s got something good like that.”

“Did you seriously just call my brilliant diabolical endeavors ‘shenanigans’?” Stiles scoffs, startling Isaac who hadn’t heard him enter the kitchen; he turns to face Stiles now, grateful for the interruption, and Stiles goes on, “you really think so little of the _epic_ pranks that--”

“That would have gotten you arrested if you were anyone else’s son?” the sheriff wonders.  “That nearly got you arrested several times _even though_ you were my son?”

“See, Dad, ‘ _nearly_ ’ is the key word in that.  ‘ _nearly_ arrested’.”

“The _point_ I’m making is that a little responsibility has been good for you.”

Stiles smiles at that and there’s no trace of anything but sincerity in his voice when he looks straight at Isaac and answers, “Yeah, it really has.”

Isaac doesn’t know how to reply to that; doesn’t think he could get out words anyway past the weird lump in his throat and fluttering in his chest that the words cause.  Instead he turns back to the sink, acting as though washing this casserole dish is the most urgent and riveting task in the world.  

“So, Dad, I was coming to warn you that, despite your touching sentiment earlier about Melissa doing what she wanted with the wedding, there is now talk of releasing live doves at the ceremony and something about a horse-drawn carriage, so you _might_ want to go be the voice of reason? Just a suggestion...”

 

**********************************************

 

After such genuinely good times with Halloween and Thanksgiving, Isaac actually finds himself looking forward to Christmas, like _really_ anticipating and planning and getting excited, not that he admits it much to Stiles.  He just catches himself daydreaming sometimes: making some dorky homemade ornaments for the tree, figuring out keepsake stuff to make with Eloise, decorating cookies maybe, even though she’s not old enough to remember any of this.  It’s largely a list of things he can recall from the days when Mom ran Christmas.  She’d been a fierce believer in the magic of the season, and not even Dad’s cynicism could stamp it out.  It was the only holiday Dad bothered with after her death, not that the dreary, emotionless version Dad forced held any kind of candle to Mom’s festive endeavors.

“Hey,” Isaac says one night between bites of the Hawaiian pizza they’re sharing while Stiles flips through flashcards for some upcoming final--philosophy?--with a concentration that has Isaac wondering if he’s been doubling Adderall doses.

“Yeah?” Stiles replies.

“I was thinking that maybe when all your finals are done we should pick a day to go get a Christmas tree.  The real ones are way better than the ones you get at the store; I think the decorations are still up in the attic, but we could pick up some new lights or--”

He cuts off his sentence in the light of Stiles’ beaming smile. “What?” he asks.

“You _want_ to do Christmas?” Stiles asks, and now Isaac’s not sure if the smile is approval or amusement at Isaac’s sentimentality.

“Don’t you?”

“Dude, of course I want to do Christmas! I fucking love Christmas! Carols and eggnog and cider and that Christmas tree smell that you are totally right is way better than trying to fake it with one of the artificial ones!”

“Good.”

“I think I just found my motivation to survive finals,” Stiles informs him.  “My last final is Thursday morning.  It’s just a paper to turn in for my English class, so maybe you and El could just ride with me to drop it off and we’ll head to the tree lot after?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Isaac agrees.  “Can’t wait.”

He doesn’t know how it’s possible for Stiles’ smile to grow even wider, but it does.  His eyes are dancing with plans, and Isaac can’t wait to follow his lead through the season; it’s sure to be  bit of a chaotic whirlwind, especially without school to distract him at all, but that’s really what Isaac’s counting on.

 

********************************************

 

Stiles needs a little peace to churn out the last few pages of his paper, so Isaac takes Eloise to the store for some groceries.It’s a bit of a mystery to him how he wound up in the Christmas section instead.

Well, not _that_ much of a mystery.

There’s a kit for a gingerbread house that he can’t quite walk past without grabbing.  He choses a few boxes of generic bright colored ball ornaments.  There’s icicle lights for the house, and colorful string lights for the tree.  Eloise goes into fits of giggles when a little boy squeezes the foot of a plush reindeer than dances and sings jingle bells, and it’s just so fucking adorable how much she loves it that the toy makes it into the buggy despite the fact that he knows damn well both he and Stiles will be ready to throw it through the window by the time they’ve played it for her a million times.  There’s a little ornament frame that reads “my first Christmas” that is clearly critical to documenting El’s childhood properly.

“I bet you’re as ready for your first Christmas as your daddy, aren’t you sweetie?” the older lady who apparently works this section comments as she walks by, returning a wreath to its rightful place after someone knocked it to the floor; Isaac never knows how to correct strangers who assume he’s her father, not without being a downer, so he says nothing. “You are just _precious_!” she coos, and Eloise gives her best delighted face at the attention.  

“Thanks,” Isaac says.

“How old is she?” the lady--Gayle, according to her nametag--wonders.  

“Um, she’ll be eight months old next week,” Isaac replies.

At the statement, Isaac realizes for the first time that he’s managed to handle Eloise for a whole half of her life.  It seems like yesterday he was trembling in fear on the doorstep when Allison dropped her off, and yet at the same time it seems like he’s had her forever, like this little family he’s got now is his only existence.  It’s an odd kind of paradox feeling, and he doesn’t dwell on it for fear of losing his current cheer.

“Ooooo teething time,” Gayle says. “Tell Daddy he better get you one of those Santa teether toys in the baby section,” she suggest to Eloise, offering a finger that she wraps her pudgy infant fingers around.  “I’m shamelessly going to say that you really should check out the Christmas gear in the baby section; there’s some adorable little outfits and things.  They’re not this little for long.”

_Well, she does need another teether toy.  Why not get one for the season? Makes sense,_ Isaac reasons.  

“We’ll swing by before we go,” Isaac tells Gayle.  “Thanks.”

“Oh, no problem, honey.  You have a Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks.  You too.”

One Santa teether toy, two green and red dresses, a pair of christmas eve pajamas, three pairs of Christmas socks, a baby-sized santa hat, a “my first Christmas” teddy, five hairbows and one “tree-saver” baby fence thing later, Isaac flees the baby section before he can bring any more damage to the budget.  More than once on the way to the checkout he thinks of turning around to put stuff back, but in the end he decides to fuck frugality this time around and go with it.  They’ll tighten up the budget next month if they need to; plus he’s been putting away savings diligently; they’ll be fine.

Stiles is still typing intently at the kitchen table when Isaac gets back.  

“Almost done with this shit,” he says as Isaac puts Ellie in her bumpo and dumps some Gerber puffs on the table to keep her occupied while he goes out to grab the bags from the car.

Stiles doesn’t look up much when Isaac makes the first trip.  The second trip he glances up to peer more intently at the contents of the plastic bags Isaac’s depositing in the kitchen floor.  On the third trip he returns to find Stiles has given in to his curiosity and taken the singing reindeer out of a bag.  He holds it up and quirks an eyebrow as Isaac walks back in.

“Shut up,” Isaac says.  “It’s Christmas.”

“Who are you and what have you done with the surly, cynical buzz kill Isaac Lahey?”

“I am not a buzz kill,” he protests.  “Not everyone feels the need to be as insanely exuberant as you do, Stiles,” he retorts.

“I take it Christmas is the exception?”

“Yes.  Are you complaining?”

“Not in the least.  Who doesn’t love a plush singing reindeer?”

“She thinks it’s the funniest shit ever,” Isaac informs.  “Try it.”

Stiles does as told, and Eloise cackles as promised, clapping her tiny hands in delight.  Stiles puts the toy on the table in front of her, and she bangs her hands on either side of it excitedly.  

“So you really, _really_ like Christmas,” Stiles supposes, glancing down at the bags of ornaments and outfits and things.  

“I’m catching up on like seven Christmases worth of awesome, okay?”

“More than okay,” Stiles replies.  “Damn I wish I was just fucking done with this semester and we could go get the tree tonight and--”

“Then stop daydreaming and get to work,” Isaac orders.  “Because Santa doesn’t come to people who fail their English final, do they, Elliebelle?” he wonders as he switches to baby voice.  “Do they?” he teases, getting up in her face to get her to grin at him before he presses the button to start the reindeer up again.   “Might want to grab some headphones though,” Isaac suggests to Stiles.

 

*******************************************************************

 

The Christmas tree farm is every bit as great as Isaac remembers from childhood.  Maybe the trees don’t seem to tower quite as high as when he was twelve, but he could still easily get lost in the sweet-smelling sea of evergreens.  He carries Eloise, who’s happily gumming the Santa teether to death, and follows Stiles as he examines every tree they pass with great scrutiny.  Any other time, Isaac would be sighing in impatience to spur him to move faster, but he’s honestly fine with the idea of it taking all morning to find their tree.  

“What about this one?” Stiles finally wonders; he’s circled the tree at least seven times with narrowed eyes, but now he’s smiling hopefully.

“Really? _That_ one?” Isaac asks, making a face to seem disgusted just to fuck with Stiles.

“What? What’d I miss? What’s wrong with it?” he wonders, deflating, and Isaac can’t hold in his bark of laughter.

“You asshole,” Stiles mutters.  “I’m trying to make sure we don’t get home to find we’ve got some Charlie Brown tree that will ruin all her first Christmas pictures; do not fuck with a man running only on end-of-semester high, caffeine, and a love of Christmas,” he warns.  

The chastisement only makes Isaac laugh harder, and Stiles continues to glare at him, crossing his arms and looking for all the world like a petulant five-year-old.  

“Oh, I’m _so_ glad I amuse you.”

“You’re even better than a singing reindeer,” Isaac assures him, managing to keep a straight face for all of thirty second before he’s laughing again.  

Eventually Stiles stops trying to pretend he’s annoyed and smiles, though he rolls his eyes to convey he’s not _entirely_ amused.  He goes off to find an attendant to come cut the tree for them, and Isaac stands guard of their perfect specimen with Eloise, bouncing her a bit when she starts fussing.  

“It’s gonna be the best Christmas ever, peanut,” Isaac promises her quietly.  “Just you wait.  If I know how to handle one holiday, it’s Christmas, so we’re gonna go all out.”

Half and hour later they’re pulling in the drive at home with the huge tree strapped to the top of Stiles’ Jeep.  It’s a bit of a struggle to get it into the house and at the front window they want to display it through, but there’s only a few curse words exchanged in the process.  It seems the tree survived the ride home okay, and there’s really only one little hole in the branches that will need some extra ornaments or tinsel to cover it.  

“Oh, shit, Christmas tree stand,” Stiles says.  “Do you have one?”

“Up in the attic I think,” Isaac replies, grateful the holiday decorations are largely stored there and not the basement; Dad doesn’t get to put a damper on this Christmas.  It’s going to be one that Mom would be proud of.

His hope of reviving her spirit in the holiday is only strengthened as they bring down boxes and start stringing lights on the tree.  Stiles pulls up a Christmas station on Pandora, and Eloise sits on her blanket in the living room floor, watching the events unfold with mild curiosity as she slobbers all over her reindeer.  She gets restless just after they start adding ornaments, trying to crawl toward the tree to grab at the lower branches, and Isaac’s glad that at least the “tree-saver” gate was a practical investment on yesterday’s splurge trip.  

“Okay, young lady, playpen it is,” Isaac says, scooping her up after her third trek to the tree, and depositing her in her playpen and walking back to the tree.

She’s not happy with the arrangement at all, pulling up by the top bar and smacking her hands angrily at the mesh side.  She wails at them furiously, little face smooshing into a mask of tiny rage.  

Isaac chuckles a little at her wrath.  “You can’t pull the tree down, El; it’ll kind of counteract the cheery vibe we’re going for.  The playpen isn’t _that_ bad.”

She clearly doesn’t agree, and her wails give way to a full on tantrum as she plops down on her bum and starts kicking her feet.  Isaac’s resolutely continuing to decorate, mindful of the way all the baby books say not to spoil kids by giving them their way just because they’re pitching a fit.  Stiles is not so resolved; he caves first--he almost always does--and goes to pick her up.

“Aw, did that mean ol’ Isaac leave you in baby jail?” he wonders, reaching down for her.   “Come on.  You can help me, okay?”

“She’s never going to learn to--”

“How am I supposed to enjoy the classic Brittney Spears rendition of “All I Want for Christmas” that Pandora is torturing us with if she’s crying?”

“She’ll be fine in--”

“It’s Christmas,” Stiles says stubbornly.  “Come on.”

“If you want to hold her for the next hour, be my guest,” Isaac tells him with a shrug, holding back the smile he’d like to be sporting.

Because the music--however awful and cliche it may be--and the pretty colored lights reflecting in Stiles’ and Eloise’s eyes, and the way she settled comfortably on his hip and he carries her through his motions as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, as though Stiles were _born_ to fit in so seamlessly with this broken, rag-tag family, all combine to kindle a warmth in Isaac’s chest that makes him ache with the desire to have many, _many_ more moments like this one.  

And just for tonight, he’s not going to try and refrain from daydreaming about how things will be if Stiles sticks around a while; he’s going to imagine repeating this night over and over for years, until Eloise is old enough to help put ornaments on and sing along with the music and climb on Stiles’ shoulders so she can reach to put the angel atop the tree; maybe even until she’s old enough to start rolling her eyes and sighing like Christmas decorating is the most lame, un-cool, chore she could ever be made to participate in when her friends are waiting to do _much_ cooler things with their night, but she’ll help anyway, and after she leaves Stiles and Isaac will make eggnog and watch the cheesy Christmas movies that always seem to play for the whole month of December.

_I bet he likes “It’s a Wonderful Life.”  I should’ve picked it up while I was at the store._

“What?” Stiles says, voice cutting through Isaac’s fantasy world.  “Why’re you staring at me?”

“Nothing,” Isaac says quickly, turning his back on Stiles to grab more ornaments.  “Just thinking about what we should get her for Christmas,” he lies.

_And adding some impossible things to my own wish list..._

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting the Pinterest board all sorted out, hopefully we'll have a link ready for everyone by next chapter!
> 
> Let us know if you think sno-balls (the snack) are good or bad because I'm sure there must be at least one person who likes them. Vague_Shadows takes the position of Isaac, I take the position of Stiles.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles doesn’t fucking understand _why_ the hell it is taking his professors _eons_ to update grades.  Not a single goddamn grade has posted yet, and it’s _ruining_ his Christmas spirit to be stuck in the limbo between kept-my-scholarships-and-winning-at-life and failed-everything-and-must-now-be-a-hobo-forever.  Isaac tried to joke him out of his funk unsuccessfully, eventually realizing this was something that even stellar sarcasm couldn’t compete against.  At least today Stiles should be out of his purgatory; it’s the last day for the professors to turn in grades.  His fate will be sealed one way or the other by midnight PST.

Which is still an agonizing sixteen hours away.

_Dammit._

He’s drawn from his dreary morning lamentations by the smell wafting into the bedroom.  It smells like heaven--assuming that heaven is well-stocked in butter and maple syrup--and he’s out of bed and blearily stumbling toward the kitchen before his brain fully catches up with his stomach.  He’s more than a little surprised to see Isaac pulling something out of the oven when he walks in.  Usually the only chance of Isaac cooking anything that didn’t come out of a box is dinner time; mornings for the both of them are usually cereal or a granola bar or anything else that can be made with minimal brain function in the time it takes to brew the morning pot of coffee.

“Whassit?” Stiles wonders, realizing too late that he’s not awake enough for full verbal skills yet.

“Morning,” Isaac greets with a huff of laughter.  “It’s stuffed french toast,” he answers.  “Hungry?”

“Dude, fuck yeah, but since when are you Mr. Breakfast Baker?”

“Since you’re so wound up you’re going to give yourself a _stroke_ before you’re grades post,” Isaac answers with a  shrug.  “Figured it might be better for everyone if you just spent the morning in a sugar coma.”

“No arguments here,” Stiles replies, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee.  “Where’s Ellie at?” he wonders, now functioning well enough to note her absence.

“Oh--she’s, uh--asleep.”

_You woke up specifically to make me breakfast? No way, dude.  You must’ve just had trouble sleeping or something_.  

“Awesome,” Stiles says.  “She’s getting pretty good at getting through most of the night, huh?”

“Yeah, thank God.”

“Just in time for me to have Christmas break and fuck her sleep schedule up,” Stiles supposes with a smile.

“I will murder you slowly,” Isaac declares.  “Don’t you dare.”

“So with me on break, what’s your schedule look like?”

Isaac shrugs.  “You know how chill Mr. Tomkins is.  As long as it gets done, he doesn’t care when.  If you want your days to yourself, then--”

“Well, I was kinda thinking maybe you could shoot for normal work hours since I’ll be home all day? It’ll get us started toward semi-normal for when my spring semester starts.”

“Sure.  Sounds good.”

Stiles managed to work his schedule around next semester so that all but one class is done by noon; it wasn’t easy, and there was some definite sob-story-telling to the registrar to bump him into some filled classes.  He’d called Isaac his ‘friend’ when he explained the situation, but the lady behind the desk gave him a knowing look and assured him that they wanted to support all their students regardless of personal choice or preferences and reminded him that he was welcome to list Isaac as his significant other on record in case of emergency and to get the discounted admission to any college events.  

He’d done his best to ignore how much the conversation made him ache, because if Isaac ever, by some massive twist of fate and/or head injury, decides to be with Stiles, he will shout it from the fucking rooftops, not coyly avoid the topic with school administration.  He’s in way too deep and he knows it.  At first he really just meant to help Isaac out a while, maybe add him to the awesome bromance Stiles shared with Scott; then he’d gradually come to terms with the fact that he was interested in much more than friendship with Isaac.  He wants the whole package: Isaac, Eloise, happily ever after.  

It’s insane; he’s still in college and trying desperately to figure out what he’s doing with his life, and yet, whatever that ends up being, he wants so badly to continue sharing it with Eloise and Isaac that it’s like a constant knot in his stomach.  He’s come close to sharing that truth more than once--when it’s late and Isaac’s pacing around the house bouncing and singing to Eloise with a tenderness that he affords no one else, when he comes home from work looking exhausted but still manages a genuine smile at Stiles and Eloise playing in the living room floor, when he’d said all he did at Thanksgiving--about Stiles being ‘dumb enough’ to stay--it took every last ounce of Stiles’ self-control not to admit then and there that he was irrevocably in love with his life with Isaac and Ellie and wouldn’t trade it for absolutely anything.

Now Isaac’s waking up early when he doesn’t have to to make Stiles a de-stress breakfast, and his hair is still all mussed up from sleep last night, and he’s staring out the kitchen window humming quietly along with the radio like he doesn’t really realize he’d doing it.  Stiles just isn’t sure how much longer he can take this without giving himself away; he opens his mouth, like he’d say something now, but closes it again just as quickly.  

Because as much as he may want to have more, he _knows_ he can’t handle having _less_. God knows Isaac is too slow to warm up to people and relax as it is; if Stiles were to say something only to have Isaac reject it and start pulling away after all the trust that’s grown between them these past months, it would absolutely shatter Stiles.  

So he just shoves the gooey goodness of the breakfast Isaac’s made into his mouth and keeps his thoughts locked in his head where they belong.

 

******************************

 

Stiles knows that he is perhaps a bit biased, but Eloise is easily the most adorable child in the line for Santa pictures.  He still finds it impossibly fantastic that the majority of her current outfit Isaac bought on his own; it confirmed Stiles’ suspicion that while he may be the one to generally pick out the clothes when they’re out shopping, Isaac is silently loving every minute of dressing Eloise in one precious outfit after the other.

He’s also pleased to see that she’s much more chill than many of the infuriated or terrified kids getting their portraits done.  That all changes the instant they hit the front of the line and she realizes that Stiles means to leave her alone with this jolly, bearded stranger.  He hurries out of the way and the photographer manages one picture that’s only halfway to a wail before she’s in full on meltdown mode.  

“Uh-oh,” Santa’s elf says.  “Looks like someone’s a little scared her first time.  Maybe one of you could get in the picture with her?”

Isaac shoves at Stiles shoulder, clearly volunteering him as the sacrifice.  Stiles dutifully goes forward to crouch by Santa’s chair, shushing Eloise to no avail.

“Make faces at her or something,” he orders Isaac, who does a piss poor job of following directions given the full repertoire of his ridiculous expressions Stiles knows he can use when he wants to.  

Isaac’s attempts fall flat of reaching the desired effect, and in fact make it worse since Eloise reaches her arms out toward him, demanding he save her since Stiles has so clearly failed to do so.  

“Okay, you in the picture too,” Santa’s Elf directs.  “Let’s see if we can’t get a smile on that sweet little face,” she goes on.  “Look here, sweetie! Look at the funny monkey!” she urges, shaking a plush toy adorned with jingle bells over the camera.

Eloise shrieks louder.

“I think it’s a lost cause,” Isaac says, clearly holding back laughter as Santa holds the crying baby out for him to take.

“At least it’ll be a great blackmail picture when she’s older,” Stiles supposes.  “I say we put it on the christmas card anyway;  it’ll be a memorable one; that’s for sure...”

“I told you there’s no point in bothering with Christmas cards.”

“Well, then we’ll frame it for cheap funny gifts.  Whatever.  Point that this picture is still golden.”

“Sure, Stiles,” Isaac agrees sardonically with a role of his eyes.

 

**********************************

 

Stiles doesn’t sleep one fucking wink on Christmas Eve.  He’s entirely too excited at the prospect of the first genuinely joyful Christmas he’s had in a very, very long time.  Not that Christmas with Dad is awful by any means, but at home there’s the constant reminder of Mom’s absence to dampen the day.  Here with Isaac and Eloise, there are no expectations.  Christmas will be what they make it; they pick their own traditions and plans for the day; they get to dote on Ellie shamelessly and shower her in the gifts they ruined the budget for (but will hopefully make up for in January).  It’s going to be the best holiday they’ve shared yet, and Stiles cannot wait.

Which is how he ends up knocking softly at Isaac’s bedroom door at four-thirty because he can’t possibly wait another second to get up and get the day started.  

“Don’t kill me, okay? It’s Christmas,” Stiles says when Isaac doesn’t answer to the knock and he eases the door open a crack.  “Can we get up yet?” he wonders into the room, feeling a bit like his childhood self for a moment.

“Sure, fine by me,” Isaac answers at full volume from behind Stiles, making him jump at the unexpected noise.

He huffs as Isaac dissolves into helpless laughter at his reaction, doubled over in the hallway with tears of mirth leaking from his eyes.  

“Okay, it’s not that funny,” Stiles insists.

“You almost jumped out of your skin, dude.”

“What are you even doing up?” Stiles wonders.

“Being more polite than you apparently,” Isaac replies.  “I couldn’t sleep either, but I was going to let you if you wanted.”

“So you’re good to go then? Full steam ahead Christmas awesomeness time?”

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees with the excited smile of an eager kid.  “I’ll get Eloise; you get the video camera ready and everything.”

“Sweet!”

He grabs the camera from the kitchen table and sets up the tripod so that the recording will get most of the room: tree, mounds of presents, hopefully delighted child.  Once it’s done he does to help Isaac who’s wrestling Eloise into her “My first Christmas” dress.  With an extra pair of hands, they make short work of it; she’s clearly not so sure what the hell is going on, but seems to decide to go along with the excitement, eyes wide and alert as Isaac carries her out of the nursery.  

“Hold on, let me hit record so we’ll get her walking in to see all the presents!”

Because even though she’s nine months old, they’d hid the presents away like they needed to surprise her.  It was the principle of the thing really.  She studied the scene before her as they enter the room, looking a bit unsure still as to what all the fuss is about.

“Put her down,” Stiles bids.  “Come crawl to your presents, peanut,” Stiles urges.  “You get to tear wrapping paper to bits _all_ day!”

Isaac puts her on the carpet, but she’s reluctant to get a move on, so he scoops her up and brings her near the tree.  It takes a couple starter presents for her to get the idea of shredding the paper, but once she’s got it she goes to _town_ , giggling at the ripping noise and throwing the strips and bits of paper into the air happily.  

“Should’ve saved some money and just wrapped a bunch of empty boxes,” Isaac teases.  

“Okay, kiddo, time for the _really_ awesome ones,” Stiles says, sliding away the outfits and blankets she’s opened so far, and placing a large, oddly shaped and horribly wrapped package in front of her that contains a pink “walk ‘n’ ride” motorcycle that’ll hopefully help her transition to walking.  “See what you think about this.”

She tears off the paper, hitting and grabbing at the toy a bit and trying to chew on the handlebars.  Isaac helps her along, folding the seat down and setting her on it so he can push her gently toward Stiles while supporting her back.  Her eyes go wide, and Stiles is distraught for a minute that she’s about to dissolve into tears, but instead she laughs, clapping her hands in delight and schooching her bum in an attempt to make the bike go forward again.

“Told you it wasn’t too soon for this!” Stiles rejoices.  “She’s gonna be a biker chick in no time! Aren’t you, peanut?” he coos, transitioning to baby voice, “just like your Daddy and Uncle Isaac.”

“What did you say?” Isaac says, clearly shocked by the statement.

“Well, I know Cam had a bike, but you ride, too, right?” Stiles says, suddenly panicking that he’d made a horrible mistake here.  

_Leave it to me to fuck up our first Christmas._

“How do you know that?”

“Dude, I’ve lived here for months and you didn’t think I’d do a little exploring in the garage?  I mean--I totally covered it right back up when I saw his dogtags hanging from the handlebars but--I mean--I assumed the dirtbike in the corner was maybe yours and then he left you his? Or--shit I guess it’s really not my business, I just--”

“It’s fine, Stiles; you just kinda caught me off guard; I didn’t figure you’d noticed.”

“Oh, well, yeah; I did.”

“Okay.”

“And this is also a horrible segway into your present, but I’d like to move right along from this semi-awkward moment, so here,” he adds, rising to grab the box he tucked away behind the tree and hand it to Isaac.  

“Oh, okay, thanks,” Isaac says, clearly trying to figure out how the two things are related.  “Here, El, help me open it,” he bids, helping her dismount the bike and sit back on the floor.

He freezes when he tears away the first strip big enough to reveal the packaging.  Eloise continues to unwrap for him as Isaac stares open-mouthed at the box containing his new helmet and then up at Stiles.  

“Are you kidding me?”

“You can totally trade it out if you hate it,” Stiles says hurriedly.  “I just wasn’t sure what to get you, but I wanted to surprise you, so I thought--I mean I’d seen the bikes but just that little turtle shell helmet you’ve got out there next to it, and I thought--ya know it seemed pretty awesome to me, and--ya know--a little more suited to keep you from scrambling your brains while you’re riding--so yeah, badass but practical Christmas present idea was born,” he explains as Isaac opens the box to lift the helmet out.  “Say something else, dude, you’re killing me here,” Stiles urges, still unable to get a definite read on Isaac’s expression.

“It’s perfect,” Isaac breathes, running his fingers over the hard, glossy surface.  “Stiles, it’s _fucking perfect!_ ” he repeats more loudly, grin stretching wide across his face as he beams over at Stiles.  “I cannot believe you actually--holy _shit_ this is--are you sure you can afford this? I mean--you shouldn’t have spent this much on me--it’s--it’s _too_ much, but--oh my _God_ , Stiles!”

It’s even better than the reaction he’s let himself hope for.  Isaac’s right, it’s an expensive gift, but Stiles didn’t want to get some lame, typical kind of thing like a Blu-ray or PlayStation game or something.  This seemed a little more like the kind of present Stiles enjoyed giving--the kind that means more than just its face value.

“Call it an investment,” Stiles says.  “In you not injuring yourself and leaving me alone on diaper duty and in making sure that I get the awesome street cred of living with the cool biker guy.”

Isaac laughs, donning the helmet.  Eloise stares, looking a bit frightened and crawling over toward Stiles.

“What do you think?” Isaac wonders, voice muffled through the plastic.

_I think that the idea of you in that helmet on that bike makes me want some very impossible Christmas presents that I shouldn’t talk about on the family home video._

“It looks awesome,” Stiles replies honestly.  “Whatcha think, El? Does Uncle Isaac look like a badass?”

She’s still staring suspiciously at him, and Isaac raises the visor so she can see his face.  He grins and Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t dazzled by the elation the gift elicits.  Eloise is more ameable toward the idea of the helmet now she can see it’s still Isaac inside, and she wiggles away from Stiles to go over and grab at it, hitting the side with her hand a few times.

“Pretty solid, huh?” Isaac asks.  “Stiles did a good job, didn’t he?”

Stiles grins at the praise.  Isaac lifts the helmet off of his head, hair mussed up and sticking everywhere.  Stiles wishes he had a camera for a quick blackmail picture; Eloise giggles.

“Iyyaak!” she declares.

“Wait, did she--she just said your name!” Stiles exclaims.  “Didn’t she?  Say it again, Ellie.  Do it again!”

She looks at him like he’s lost his ever-loving mind, then back to Isaac who seems unsure if he wants to believe Stiles’ assumption that she’s said her first legitimate word, which she totally totally did.

“Say Isaac? Can you say Isaac? _Isaac_?” Stiles urges hopefully.

“Iyyaak,” she repeats.

“Oh my God! It’s her first word! On Christmas! How perfect is that, Isaac?!”

“Iyyaaak,” Eloise says again, clearly enjoying the reaction it gets her.  “Iyyaak.”

“You are just the most adorable thing ever even if you _are_ totally stealing my thunder on the Christmas present front because no way can I compete with you giving Isaac your first word.”

Isaac sits staring at Eloise like he can’t believe this is really happening.  The absolute adoration in his face as he watches his niece repeat his name a few more times is beyond endearing.  Isaac always spends so much time worrying over how to be a good enough guardian to Eloise; Stiles makes a mental note to force Isaac to watch the recording of this moment, because whatever the hell may happen as the kid grows up, the unabashed love on Isaac’s face is a clear indicator that he’s ready to do whatever it takes for his niece; that’s the kind of support it takes to make it through life okay, and Isaac’s clearly set to provide it.

“How about Stiles?” he wonders.  “Any chance you got me the same Christmas present?” he teases.  “Stiles?  Stiles?” he tries.  

Nothing.

“Isaac?” Isaac suggests instead, the first word he’s managed.  

“Iyyaaak,” she answers immediately, and Isaac scoops her up in his arms as he laughs joyously, tossing her up in the air and catching her as she giggles with him.  “Iyyaak! Iyyaak!”

Stiles pulls out his phone to properly document (aka instagram) the moment and is pleasantly surprised at the excitement on Isaac’s face when the camera clicks, given that he usually loathes having his picture taken.

“You’ve got to open your present now!” he tells Stiles.  “That one over there, with the holly wrapping paper on it.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Stiles replies, grabbing it immediately and tearing the paper off without hesitation.  

He stares down at the red and white box in shock.

_No fucking way.  No way did he buy me a camera.  A nice camera, a really fucking nice camera. Oh, my God.  Holy shit! He bought me an insanely awesome gift too!_

“Look, El; it’s a historic moment; first time ever that Stiles was quiet for more than ten seconds,” Isaac says in a stage whisper, grinning over at Stiles and clearly pleased with himself, which he should be.

“Isaac, this is way too much,” Stiles says.  “It’s--it’s--are you--it’s seriously for me?”

“The had a killer black Friday sale,” Isaac says.  “I only had to murder like five people to make sure I got it,” he teases.  “No big deal.”

“Are you _sure_ that it’s--I mean--a Nikon? That’s-- _dude_.”

“Says the guy who bought me a seven hundred dollar helmet.”

“Well, yeah but--”

_I think I’m falling in love with you, so I maybe splurged more than I should have.  I wasn’t expecting more than an awesome gift card and maybe a cute little craft thing from Eloise on your end._

_But you got me a fucking professional grade camera?_

Stiles is trying not to draw too many conclusions with the limited information, but he can’t help wondering if Isaac’s motivations were maybe similar to his own.

_You at least really, really like me, huh? And you’ve noticed enough to know that I would fucking love this for Christmas._

“Allison helped me figure out which one to get,” Isaac admits.  “I was pretty clueless.”

_You even talked to Allison? You collaborated to make sure you got it right?_

_Dammit, I cannot keep getting more infatuated with you; I’ve got to hit the limit sometimes._

“But I thought--I mean you’re snapping pictures all the times anyway, and you mentioned that there was that photography class you wanted to take, so I figured--ya know, like you said with the helmet, practical but awesome? But if you’d rather return it for something else, I kept all the reciepts so--”

“No way,” Stiles forbids, clutching the box to his chest dramatically.  “Ellie, I’m sorry to tell you that Stiles has got a new baby now, and you’re being bumped down to second place; if anyone so much as _looks_ at this precious thing wrong, there will be some serious butt-kicking going on,” he rambles.

“So it’s good?”

“It’s _fantastic_!” he assures, still smiling impossibly wide though his cheeks are actually starting to ache with it.

His eyes meet Isaac’s, and Isaac hold the gaze; his eyes are dancing with mirth and reflecting the lights off the Christmas tree and Stiles wishes the camera was already out of the box and working because he wants to capture this look so he can keep it.

“Thank you, Isaac,” he says earnestly.

_Not just for the gift, but for letting me into your life, for sharing Eloise, for making me feel needed and have some kind of purpose and direction in my life._

“Iyyaak!” Ellie repeats merrily, looking expectaly for their celebration, which comes as they finally break eye contact to praise her.  “Iyyaak.”

“Okay, peanut, let’s get some of your other awesome stuff opened up,” Stiles says, grabbing the nearest box (a Fisher-Price princess castle thing) and plopping it down before her.  “Go for it,” he urges.”

 

*****************************************************

 

Stiles takes about a billion pictures with his camera over the next week, starting with pictures of Isaac’s furious, cursing face when he finds several of Eloise’s toys seem to require some kind of engineering degree to put together.  He’s of course back to his chill, ameable self once she’s happily enjoying her presents though, and Stiles thoroughly documents the whole process for posterity.  Isaac complains to no end as Stiles snaps photos of every moment possible; the thing is, Isaac is usually smiling when he protests so Stiles decides quickly that it doesn’t count as true annoyance.  He took a leaf from Allison’s book and scoured the internet for inspiration, taking tons of pictures of Eloise of course, but many, many candids of her and Isaac as well.  

As great as some of the set-up moments turn out, Stiles still loves those candids the best: Isaac “flying” Eloise’s spoon to her mouth to coax her into eating the last few bites; Isaac tossing her into the air and smiling up at her as she lands safely back in his arms; Isaac dozing off on the couch with a stuffed bear in one hand and a sleeping toddler in the other.

Stiles swears he’s digging himself in deeper and deeper with every click of the shutter.  He should resist this; he should be worried; he shouldn’t let his daydreams get away with him.  the thing is, he’s tried for months to avoid getting too attached; it hasn’t done a damn thing to prevent it happening.  He’s in over his head and loving every minute.  The _only_ thing that keeps him silent is the prospect of Isaac’s negative reaction to finding just how badly Stiles wants to keep all of this forever.  He never promised Stiles that--hell, all he did was call for a little back-up in the early, nervous-new-parent stage, and Stiles took that bit of leeway and managed to wiggle himself into their lives.  Most days he’s just grateful Isaac seems glad to have him here and excited to watch Eloise grow.  Most days it’s enough to have everything but that last little piece of Isaac he’d like to claim for himself.

Most days.

But on New Year’s Eve, with _much_ more alcohol in his veins than he intended to imbibe, every fiber of Stiles is _aching_ to be with Isaac when the clock strikes midnight.  Lydia calls him a cab and waits outside as Stiles sips happily on his umpteenth drink--something fruity this time that is very much not manly and he very much doesn’t care; Isaac would care; Isaac would pick on him for it, but steal a sip anyway.

_Isaac._

He smiles at the thought, willing the cab to come faster and take him back to the people he _really_ wants to spend the evening with.

“Stiles, are you _sure_ you want to go home like this?” Lydia asks.  “Your filter isn’t exactly stellar anyway, but--”

“I wanna be with Isaac,” he answers simply.

“Oh, honey, believe me; I’m _well_ aware.  I’m just not so sure that you’ve got the best foresight at the moment.  Maybe you should--”

“I’m going home to Isaac,” he says as the cab finally pulls in the drive.  

"Well, you're a big boy. I'm not going to stop you," she says with a sigh. "Just try not to embarrass yourself too badly?”

“Why would I embarrass myself?”

“Oh, no reason, just the general potential for five months of repressed sexual tension bursting forth in a moment of alcohol-induced confession.”

“Isaac doesn’ have sexu’l tension with me,” Stiles protests. “I’ll be fine; just wanna go home.”

“Well, text me when you’re in safe, okay?” she requests, opening the cab door for him.

“Uh-huh. Happy New Year, Lyds.”

“You too, Stiles.”

She shuts the door as he gives the driver his address.  The movement of the car is lulling Stiles to sleep now that he’s away from the hubbub of the party.   He’s glad it’s only a fifteen minute right to get home.  

“Thanks,” he says as they pull into the drive, handing the driver enough cash to cover fare and tip and telling him, “don’t worry about the change,” because he’s too eager to get up to the front door now that he’s so close.

Stiles almost rings the doorbell before the thinks better of it.  He fumbles in his pocket for his keys, but the door swings open just as he gets them out.

“Stiles?” Isaac greets, and Stiles grins at the adorable way his forehead crinkles when he’s confused; he wants to kiss the crease, but he doesn’t give in to the impulse.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m _great_ ,” Stiles replies emphatically because it’s absolutely true.

Isaac steps back to let him into the house; he closes and locks the door behind him as Stiles goes to plop down on the comfy sofa.  

“Why’re you home?”

“‘Salmost midnight. Duh.”

“Guess I missed the day we gave you a curfew,” he teases.

“You’re an assole,” Stiles informs.

_My asshole though.  So it’s okay._

“Glad to know I’ve got your approval?” Isaac says with an awkward laugh.

“I didn’t exactly mean to say that out loud.”

Isaac laughs genuinely this time, and it lights up his whole face.  His whole unfairly beautiful face.  He joins Stiles on the couch in front of the TV displaying some concert party thing that has too many strobe lights flashing for Stiles’ liking.

“I’m glad you’re not so pissed at the whole world anymore,” Stiles informs him.  

“Huh?”

“You used to seem so mad all the time, but you’re all happier ‘n’ stuff now,” Stiles expounds, worrying a little when Isaac doesn’t immediately agree, “Right?” he wonders.

“Yeah, I’m happier and stuff now,” Isaac says, quiet and earnest.

“Good ‘cause me too,” Stiles informs him.

“Exactly how much did you have to drink?”

“Stopped counting; Scott’s fault,” Stiles replies.  “Not _too_ much; you’re only in real trouble if I start singing ‘Piano Man’ at the top of my lungs.”

“Good to know.  I’ll grab you some water, okay?”

“Stay?”

The request blurted from his lips before he could stop it, and his hand moved of its own accord to capture Isaac’s.  He knows he’s blushing, but he doesn’t take back the word, and he doesn’t let go.  Isaac doesn’t pull away immediately.  In fact, he smiles shyly, running a thumb across the back of Stiles’ hand before promising, “I’ll be right back.”

Stiles still huffs in protest as he leaves, but rethinks it when he comes back bearing a tall glass of water that Stiles realizes he really really wants.

“You’re totally the best ever,” he says as Isaac hands it over and he gulps it down gratefully.

“Thought I was an asshole?”

“That too.  Best ever asshole,” Stiles says.  “I’ll get you a name tag.”

“Maybe not,” Isaac replies. “I feel like that could lead to some very awkward, compromising situations.”

Stiles dissolves into a fit of laughter, nearly spitting his water everywhere.  Isaac rolls his eyes, but his small amused smile gives him away.  He thinks Stiles is funny.  He’s glad Stiles came home for midnight.

Stiles is glad, too.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday the Pinterest accounts will start cooperating with us. We have a couple of boards put together, we should be able to share them soon!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourselves. Note rating and tag changes!

Stiles is adorably drunk, the kind of drunk Isaac’s never managed to master, relaxed and uninhibited but not incapacitated. He babbles a bit about how “water always tastes _different_ when you’re super thirsty” and then wonders “why Lydia is so good at throwing parties; like she just _knows_ stuff or something” and as he talks his words start to slur just a bit more as his eyes droop with sleep. He leans back on the couch, not bothering to right himself, and when he eventually leans against Isaac, Isaac definitely doesn’t mind one bit.

“Next party holiday I’ll keep Ellie so you can go out,” Stiles promises. “‘Kay? Or hey we should get a sitter or let her stay with Dad ‘n’ Melissa maybe ‘n’ we can _both_ get drunk _together._ ”

“You wouldn’t like me drunk,” Isaac replies before he thinks better of it.

“Why not?” Stiles wonders; when Isaac doesn’t reply he asks, “Are you a sad drunk? i used to be sometimes; Poor Scott,” he says with a small laugh.

“No.”

_I get mean; I’ll fight anything that moves; I turn into Dad when I’m drinking._

“My Dad gets really pissed when he drinks,” Stiles confides, “he used to I mean.”

“Not anymore?”

“Not since Melissa. He’s lots better now, and she doesn’t let him have anything but those fruity beers she likes,” Stiles goes on with a giggle that is downright _adorable._ “Wanna know a secret?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The fruity beers are the best ones; Dad thinks so too, but made me promise not to tell.”

Isaac chuckles at that. “Secret’s safe with me,” he assures.

“Good.”

“Hey is Ellie asleep?”

“Yeah, she’s asleep.”

“But you gave her the little yellow teddy bear right?”

“Yes, Sitles; I know how to put Ellie to sleep.”

“Just checkin’. Did she miss me? Since I wasn’ here?”

“She’s nine months old, Stiles.”

“Yeah, but she can still miss me.”

“Yeah, she missed you.”

“Knew it,” he says with a smile. “I’m the favorite.”

“She said my name first.”

“She’s workin on mine,” Stiles assures indignantly. “It’s harder than yours; no fair.”

He starts rambling again, about which consonants she’ll master first and how they should stop cursing in front of her soon or she’ll pick up the bad words and that she’s so smart she’ll probably talking in “whole big” sentences before long. Isaac just listens, nodding and murmuring agreement every-so-often, taking the cup of water from his loose hands when Stiles almost dumps it all over himself and setting it on the coffee table. He smiles when Stiles drifts off to sleep ten minutes before midnight, snoring lightly as Isaac watches the countdown, praying the coming year will be as wonderful as the past five months have been. Stiles stirs at the sound of the raucous din on the television that accompanies the stroke of midnight.

“Sorry, I’ll turn it down,” Isaac says reaching for the remote. “Go back to sleep.”

“Un-uh, I’m awake,” Stiles protests. “Are we counting yet?”

“They already counted,” Isaac tells him. “Happy New Year.”

“What? No!” Stiles protests, suddenly wide awake and frowning deeply. “I was going to--”

He cuts off his sentence by literally clamping a hand over his mouth, and Isaac laughs.

“What? Going to what?”

“Nothing,” Stiles replies. “It was dumb.”

“Tell me anyway?” Stiles shoots a quick glance over at him, blushing bright red, and Isaac vainly claims, “Bet I can guess,” as he leans just a bit farther into Stiles’ face.

“Am I getting warmer?” he wonders, shamelessly going for what he hopes to God is the right move.

“Yeah,” Stiles affirms breathlessly, eyes wide like he can’t quite be sure this is really happening. “Don’t hate me,” he pleads just before he rushes his lips to Isaac’s.

The kiss is sloppy and wet and _perfect_ and far, _far_ too short in Isaac’s opinion. Stiles pulls away after just a moment, staring worriedly into Isaac’s eyes. He bites at his lower lip as he wonders, “Did I just fuck everything up?”

Isaac shakes his head, not trusting his own voice, and leans in again, taking more control this time, letting his tongue trace the line of Stiles’ teeth, pulling back slowly and sucking on Stiles’ bottom lip as they part. Stiles gasps softly into the space between them before pushing on Isaac’s shoulders, guiding him to lay down on the couch, and Isaac’s content to comply. Stiles braces himself with a hand above Isaac’s shoulder and with his other hand threads fingers through his hair and seals their lips together again. Isaac runs hands under Stiles shirt, pulling at the hem and asking, “Can we lose this?”

“ _Fuck_ , yeah we can,” Stiles agrees, straightening up for just a moment to peel his shirt off and toss it across the room. “And yours?” he pleads, and Isaac’s quick to sit up and strip away his own, but Stiles frowns down at him, and Isaac remembers too late that he’s the first person to know that these scars aren’t all from fighting and lacrosse. “Are they--”

“Don’t ask me questions,” Isaac interjects, “not right now, just, come on; c’mere,” he urges, pulling Stiles back down to muzzle him with a kiss before working his way down Stiles’ neck until he’s panting and whining and Isaac can feel Stiles’ erection rutting into his thigh.

“Isaac, I--we should--stop,” Stiles gasps, “or I’m gonna--I just might--”

“Come in your pants?” Isaac teases, breaking away from the hickey he’s working into Stiles’ skin just below his collarbone, appreciating the contrast of the deep red circle to the pale skin surrounding it.

“Isaac, I’m serious--I--”

“So who cares?” Isaac wonders, and Stiles’ hips jerk like they’ve got a mind all their own. “If it feels good, and you wanna, then--” Isaac doesn’t finish his sentence, just lets the heel of his palm run across the bulging crotch of Stiles’s jeans while snaking his other arm across Stiles’ back, pulling him flush to Isaac’s body. “Why not?” he breathes against Stiles’ ear, and Stiles kisses him again, more desperate and needy than anything yet; Isaac’s only to happy to respond in turn, Stiles’ little moans making him smile. Stiles’ thrusting gets more and more fervent and Isaac feels one of Stiles’ hands leave his hair to fumble desperately with Isaac’s jeans, and Isaac pushes Stiles’ hands off and sticks his own hand down his pants, unable to contain his own groan at the contact. He hasn’t been _this_ hard, _this_ turn on, this _excited_ in ages.

“Stiles, Stiles it’s fine, I got it,” Isaac breathes with a smile. Stiles looks beyond desperate and he nods, the most dazzling smile Isaac’s ever seen painted across his face. He returns to the kissing with new fervor, Stiles’ hips pushing Isaac’s hand into his own dick, their closeness rushing up to overwhelm Isaac, forcing him to writhe up towards Stiles, get as much friction as possible.

He breaks away from Isaac’s mouth as he comes, muttering “I’m gonna-- gonna-- _fuck, Isaac,_ ” into Isaac’s bare shoulder. Isaac’s right behind him, biting his lip to hold in his cry and pulling Stiles into him as he comes, sighing brokenly; it’s been _so_ fucking long since he’s done anything like this, much less with someone like

Stiles who--

_Oh, God. It’s Stiles.  
_

_Stiles.  
_

_What the hell am I doing? What was I thinking?  
_

_He’s been drinking; he’s never said anything sober; I am the last fucking person on planet earth that Stiles would want to be with. The only reason this happened is because he came home early to check on Eloise. I just happened to be here.  
_

_Dammit, I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have even gone for the second kiss, much less this._

“Holy shit that was awesome,” Stiles comments, sliding his hands down the sides of Isaac’s face, letting them rest along his neck. “ _Damn_ we should have done something a long time ago.”

“Come on, Stiles; you should get cleaned up and get to bed.”

“Nope,” he replies. “Never moving from this spot ever.” He ducks down to kiss Isaac again but the overwhelming dread and panic makes Isaac nauseous and he turns his head away so Stiles kisses his ear instead.

“ _Stiles._ ”

“What’s wrong? You’re annoyingly tense for a guy who just--wait, did you--did I--I mean you were--good with all that? You said--”

“I’m _fine;_ I just want to shower,” Isaac says shortly, “and you should too.” He pulls Stiles’ hands away before pushing him up to a sitting position.

“So showering together? Or?” Stiles runs his hands down Isaac’s bare chest, and Isaac can’t help but shiver. God what he would give for this to be real and not just a terrible drunk mistake.

“I should go check on Eloise,” Isaac tells him, spouting the first excuse that comes to mind and sliding out from under Stiles to stand. “You should--uh--drink some more water before bed. Take some aspirin or something.”

“Isaac--” Stiles looks around the living room, somewhat confused as he registers the water and the messed up couch cushions. It’s like Isaac can see the regret dawning on Stiles’ face.

_Fuck. I should not have done this. I should have never let this happen._

“See you in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“‘Night, Stiles.”

“Night.”

**************************************

Isaac runs the shower cold and stays in until he’s shivering, cursing whatever possessed him to make such an _insanely_ idiotic move with Stiles. It’s not just about opening himself up to the possibility of parenting alone again; that’s terrifying but manageable. It’s the idea of losing Stiles in his life to any extent that has him lying awake, staring at the ceiling until nearly dawn.

_I shouldn’t be surprised; it was only a matter of time until I fucked it all up.  
_

_Maybe he’ll stay for Eloise. As long as I swear not to do it again, maybe even if he wants to move out but drop by, he’ll probably stay around in some capacity at least for her sake, right? She’s the reason he’s here in the first place. She shouldn’t suffer because I’m a compulsive, horny bastard.  
_

_Maybe he’ll stay for her.  
_

_Fuck, I hope he does. I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind if he leaves.  
_

_How could I be so stupid?  
_

_How could I even let myself get this attached in the first place? I haven’t even known him six months and it seems like he’s already completely incorporated into my life. I know better than to let people in like this; I know better than to dive in this deep, especially this fast. I can’t make mistakes like this, not with Ellie around._  
I gotta keep my head on straight; minimal distraction, minimal risk. Keep things simple. Keep things with Stiles platonic before I fuck it all up so badly that he leaves completely.

_I can do that; I can totally do that. I should do that, right?  
_

_Because Stiles doesn’t want to be saddled with me; yeah he’s here all the time now, but the older El gets the less he’ll have to be here every minute. He’ll move on eventually. He should. He deserves to.  
_

_Yeah, platonic is best for everybody. We’re just roommates, just simple, not-complicated, least-likely-relationship-to-blow-up-in-my-face roommates._

 

***************************************

He wakes to the sound of the text alert pinging twice on his phone, grumbling and he picks it up to check who bothered to text. It’s from Stiles.

_What the hell?_

“Forgot I had plans with Dad today. Gave Ellie her morning bottle and put her back down to sleep.”

The second message adds, “Seemed like you were sleeping hard so I didn't’ wake you.”

The words hit Isaac like a punch to the gut.

_He’s already gone?! But he’s coming back, right? Fuck, I didn’t even get a chance to explain anything!_

The phone dings again, and a third text appears: “Can we maybe just forget about last night? Is that okay?”

Isaac can’t believe Stiles is really offering that; he hopes he can actually follow through on the suggestion and not hate Isaac for crossing the line.

_Please just let it be that simple?_

“Yeah, of course,” Isaac answers.

_I will totally keep it in my pants from now on, Stiles; I fucking swear. Thinking with the upstairs brain. No more attempts to be the asshole that cashes in on frisky, drunken offers you didn’t mean and I was sober and should have known better._

“Thanks,” Stiles texts back.

“No problem,” Isaac lies, tossing his phone back on the nightstand as he gets up to go check on Ellie.

***********************************************

Isaac turns on the radio, the television, and even Ellie’s music mobile trying to fill the silence in the house. He knows it’s pointless; it’s not Stiles’ voice he misses, it’s his whole presence. It makes Isaac keenly aware of just how awful life with Stiles permanently absent could be. The panic that starts to rise as the minutes tick by is suffocating. Eloise fusses, no doubt picking up on Isaac’s stress.

_He’s just got plans with his dad. It’s not so unusual to have New Years Day plans with your dad. It’s totally normal.  
_

_He’s not so upset he’d leave, right? He’ll come back._

Isaac more or less manages to dampen the panic, but the loneliness feels like it’s settling into his bones. More than once he picks up his phone and lets his finger hover over speed dial number three. He puts it back down without dialing more times than he can count, but, in the end, he presses the button to make the call, and

Derek’s familiar face appears on the caller ID as the phone rings. Isaac counts four before Derek answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“How’s life as a Dad?” Derek wonders. “Got those cheesy pictures from the Holiday stuff. Looks like you take to it pretty well.”

“Guess so.”

“What’s up?”

“You wanna come over?” Isaac wonders, hoping he manages to sound casual and not as desperate as he feels.

“Man, we talked about this; I don’t do kids; my record is _shit_ and if they think you’re letting the wrong kinds of people around your kid--”

“You don’t have to make up excuses for why you don’t want to get involved. I understand. It’s fine. I’m not asking for all that, okay? I just thought maybe--you’d come over for a little while.”

“And what the hell is your boyfriend going to say when your fuck buddy shows up at the door?” Derek wonders.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“He’s helping raise your goddamn kid, Isaac.”

“That doesn’t make him my boyfriend.”

“It makes him _something._ ”

“Yeah, well, he’s not here anyway; he’s not my boyfriend; and I just--I could really use a distraction, ya know? But if you don’t want to--”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then are you coming or what?”

“Now?”

“Half an hour if you wanna dodge Eloise being awake.”

“See you then.”

**********************************************************************

The baby’s been down for a solid ten minutes by the time Isaac hears the sound of Derek’s Harley Davidson pull into the drive. He hurries to meet Derek at the door before he can ring the bell or knock and wake her up. Isaac’s tense with nerves for some reason, maybe because it seems like living with Derek was a lifetime ago? Regardless, he’s genuinely glad to see the dazzling smile Derek flashes when Isaac opens the door.

“Well, if it isn’t father of the year,” he greets, taking off his sunglasses.

“Shut up,” he retorts. “Come in or whatever,” Isaac adds. “You’re letting the cold in.”

“Scared the neighbors are going to call the boyfriend and say some hoodlum is--”

“Stop calling him my boyfriend,” Isaac orders.

“Dude, chill the fuck out,” Derek replies. “What’re you so wound up for?” he wonders with a hand on Isaac’s shoulder.

“I’m not.”

“You _are_ or you wouldn’t have called me,” Derek persists.

“It’s nothing; I didn’t call you over to talk.”

“Okay,” Derek agrees. “So we won’t talk,” he says, leaning in to bring his lips to Isaac’s.

He’s tentative at first, almost like this is the first time they’ve done this and not well past the hundredth. Isaac pushes the pace though, kissing Derek forceful and deep to set the tone of this the way he wants.

_Hell, maybe I’ll even top this time._

Derek kisses back hungrily, breaking away to suck at Isaac’s neck, and Isaac tips his head back to let him. A pleased sigh escapes him as he begins to relax under Derek’s roaming hands that slip under his shirt to trace the lines of Isaac’s abs. Then he pulls the hem of Isaac’s shirt up to strip the cloth away before mirroring the motion himself.

“Miss me?” he wonders with a cocky grin.

“Yeah,” Isaac admits honestly before he can stop himself, and Derek’s smile widens.

“Missed you, too,” he puts in before crashing his lips back to Isaac’s with bruising force that sends a spark of arousal shooting through Isaac. He pushes Derek back, smiling into the kiss at the thud their bodies make when they hit the wall. Derek’s quick to grip Isaac’s sides tight and turn them so he’s no longer against the wall, but Isaac’s not so quickly thwarted. Shoving Derek back as he comes up for air, and then grabbing Derek’s arm to tug him toward the bedroom.

“C’mon,” he bids, and Derek follows easily enough; Isaac smiles at the small victory in control.

It scares him sometimes, the thrill that tingles through him at the idea of holding power over Derek; it scares him almost as much as how much he likes losing that same control.

Derek’s pliability disappears the moment the bedroom door shuts behind them, and he uses Isaac’s grip on his arm to pull Isaac back toward him, tugging at the button on Isaac’s jeans until it comes undone, unzipping them and pushing down until they pool at Isaac’s ankles. He lets his hands mimic Derek’s moves, and Derek pushes Isaac back toward the bed, both leaving their pants behind to fall onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, vying for position on top. Derek wins; Derek _always_ wins. He’s stronger and bigger than Isaac, but not overly so, and Isaac manages to flip him to his back after another minute or two.

“Really, Isaac?” Derek wonders, breaking from the kiss to raise a skeptical eyebrow. “We both know how this goes.”

“Come on, Derek; Let me,” Isaac coaxes, palming at Derek’s growing erection through his boxers.

He nips at Derek’s collarbone and Derek grumbles incoherently as he insists, “You know I hate when you do that,” he mutters. “Just--lay back and let me do the work why don’t you? You said you needed to relax,” he reminds, slipping a hand inside Isaac’s boxers to stroke his length. “I can get you relaxed; you’ll be fucking putty in my hands and you _know_ you love that,” Derek goes on, and Isaac hates his traitorous body for the shiver of anticipation that runs through him at the suggestion.

“Maybe I don’t want to lay back,” Isaac counters, leaning down to Derek’s ear to suggest, “maybe I want to work you open one finger at a time until you’re begging me to fill you up with--”

Derek turns his head to cut off the proposal with a kiss, rolling the rest of his body so that Isaac’s beneath him again, and smiling down.

“Remind me how that worked out last time,” he bids with a teasing smile that Isaac loathes.

“You came,” Isaac answers, hands trailing down to push Derek’s boxers ever downward. “ _That’s_ how it worked out.”

“Yeah, _eventually_ ,” Derek concedes. “But--”

“Derek,” Isaac says, pleading with his eyes because he doesn’t want to sound as desperate as he feels.

_I’m fucking responsible for a kid. I have this whole fucking life I didn’t ask for in a house that I hate with a guy I was stupid enough to fall for even though there’s no fucking way he’ll love me back. Give me control of this one fucking part of my life for just a little while._

“Please?” he says aloud.

Derek rolls his eyes, leaning down to kiss Isaac, biting almost too hard at his bottom lip as he pulls away and agrees with a huff, “Fine.”

“Won’t regret it,” Isaac swears, heady sense of power flooding in at Derek’s acquiescence.

“Uh-huh,” Derek replies, clearly doubtful.

Isaac resists the urge to smack him on the back of the head, deciding instead to raise up for a kiss, slow and deep at first and then fucking his tongue into Derek’s a few quick times before breaking away to nod toward the nightstand.

“Lube’s in the top drawer.”

“It’s not that stupid strawberry smelling shit that--”

“No,” Isaac replies. “I know how you feel about that--you’ve talked my head off.”

“Just saying,” Derek mutters, rising off Isaac to fetch the bottle from the drawer and toss it as he falls back on the bed, worming his way out of his boxers to lay naked and waiting, and Isaac swears all the blood in his body goes straight to his dick in that moment.

_God, he’s gorgeous._

Isaac slicks his fingers, pressing lightly against Derek’s hole before pushing all the way in. Derek clenches around him with a grunt that doesn’t sound in the least bit pleased.

“Relax, man,” Isaac urges. “This is why you suck at being bottom.”

“You’ve got a _finger_ up my ass,” Derek points out, “and you’re not moving it, so maybe I’m not the one who sucks at this arrangement.”

The words cuts deeper than Isaac wants him to know. Maybe if Derek would fucking _help_ him, say what he likes or doesn’t or _what_ Isaac’s doing wrong then Isaac could actually _improve_ instead of fucking it up like he screws up everything.

He works up a rhythm, adding a second finger when Derek relaxes a bit. He swears that part of the problem _has_ to be the way Derek resists being bottom. If he would _just_ lay back and enjoy it, he wouldn't have such a hard time with the whole thing. Isaac enjoys it well enough even though it’s not his first choice. Why can’t Derek?

_Because Derek’s better at topping than me. How many times is he going to say it before I just accept it?_

At least one more time, because holy hell it is a sight to behold to watch his handiwork as he continues to stretch Derek, adding a third finger. Derek groans though, breathy and impatient, and when Isaac pulls his fingers back the next time, Derek rolls to the side before he can thrust them back in.

“Dude!” Isaac protests.

“Isaac, I’m not in the mood for this today; I’ve got like zero patience and you’ve got a fucking baby down the hall that could wake up any second. Just let me.”

“We were almost--”

“Isaac, seriously, just lay down, would you?” Derek says stubbornly. He sits up, trying to come in for a kiss, but Isaac turns his head away, annoyed, offended, and embarrassed.

_Am I really that bad at this?_

“Don’t be like that,” Derek pleads, voice sweet even if his opinion of Isaac’s performance is harsh. “Just let me take care of you instead,” he requests, planting his kiss on Isaac’s collarbone since his face is turned away. “You enjoy that, right? It’s still a win-win.”

Isaac wants to refuse; he wants to claim that if he’s not topping the hook up is off; he wants to muster up a little more backbone to insist Derek let him finish what he started.

But that runs the risk of Derek deciding he’d rather just leave, and Isaac really, really couldn’t handle that right now. Not after everything else. He’s _got_ to blow off some steam or he’s going to lose it, and so he turns his face back to Derek’s, kissing him hard and biting at his bottom lip before he pulls back to murmur reluctantly, “Okay, fine.”

“That’s the spirit,” Derek teases, nipping at Isaac’s jawline and mouthing his way down Isaac’s neck. “Let me _own_ you, Isaac; I'll make everything else go away for a little while,” he promises, pushing at Isaac until he goes with the movement and lies face down on the bed. Derek runs his hands up Isaac’s body, trailing his fingers up Isaac’s sides and arms and leaving goosebumps in his wake. He pulls Isaac’s arms above his head, pinning them there as he leans down to kiss him, letting his tongue fuck rough into Isaac’s mouth, biting at his lip again, and this time Isaac tastes blood; Derek pulls away, eyeing him for a reaction.

“Okay?”

“Fine,” Isaac answers shortly. “You gonna fuck me or what?” he wonders. “Get going.”

“Ask nicely; tell me what you want,” Derek instructs with a devious grin, knowing how much Isaac gets off from giving replies like, “Please, Derek? Please work me open and fuck me.” He pauses a moment, staring up into Derek’s lust-wide eyes as he adds, “Fuck me hard.”

 _That_ gets the kind of groan out of Derek that Isaac’s been working for the whole time.

“ _Damn,_ Isaac,” he answers huskily.

“Come on, Derek; get moving.”

Because as much as Isaac wanted to top, he’s learned to embrace this role too. It’ll bother him later, how easily he rolled over for Derek, how he gave up calling the shots to let Derek give him orders and pin him down and fuck him sore. Right now all the can think about is how awesome it’s gonna be once Derek starts working him open and how _full_ he’s gonna feel with Derek inside him after so fucking long since _anything._

_Anything except last night with Stiles._

Isaac moans at the thought and Derek interprets it as praise for his own actions, which is just fine with Isaac. The faster he can forget about Stiles and last night’s clusterfuck the better he’ll feel.

“This what you want?” Derek wonders, circling Isaac’s hole with a slicked finger. “You want it, Isaac? Admit how much you love to bottom for me.”

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees, because it’s true--he’d rather they switched more, but part of him does love the thrill of having Derek take control and have his way. “I love it.”  
Derek slides in one finger, so slowly that Isaac finds himself trying to fuck down already, eager for the stretch and the burn and the careless way Derek has of working him open that hurts so good that he feels like every nerve in him is alight with sensation. Derek lays down next to him, sucking hard along Isaac’s collarbone as he adds a second finger.

“More, Derek, faster,” Isaac urges. “ _Please?_ ” he adds because Derek gets off on the begging, and the more turned on Derek gets the faster this is gonna go. “Give me more,” he keens, last word trailing off into a whine.

Derek obliges sitting up to add a third finger, fucking into Isaac roughly, fingers flitting over his prostate with each thrust. Isaac’s unbearably hard, erection pressing down into the mattress. Derek’s ragged breaths betray how affected he is too, no matter how in control he likes to seem.

“Hands and knees,” Derek orders, “up toward the head of the bed, grip the headboard.”  
Isaac’s quick to react, eager to keep their momentum. He’s a little surprised when Derek reaches around him to squeeze at the base of his cock, though it’s a move he’s made countless times before.

“You better not come without me,” Derek warns, voice low as he growls the command in Isaac’s ear; Isaac’s not sure if he shudders from the words themselves or the sensation of Derek’s breath on his skin, but Derek huffs out a laugh at the reaction. He sits back up, lining himself up to start pushing into Isaac, giving him just the tip at first, pressing in against the ring of resistance and waiting. Isaac moans in frustration, and Derek pets down his back as he shushes him--well, pet might not be the words since he’s dragging his fingernails, no doubt leaving four red scratches that will linger on Isaac even after Derek’s gone--but he knows that it drives Isaac crazy, and definitely doesn’t help him hold back his orgasm; Isaac moans even louder.

“ _Such_ a desperate little slut, aren’t you?” Derek wonders. “You’re just _aching_ for me to fuck you and fill you and _own_ every inch of this sweet little ass; isn’t that right?”

“ _Derek_.”

“Isn’t that right?” Derek repeats.

“ _God_ , Derek, _yes, please,_ ” Isaac begs.

Derek thrusts in, balls deep, in one swift motion. Isaac gasps at the full intrusion at first, body adjusting and relaxing again to accommodate Derek. Derek’s hands slide up Isaac’s arms, covering Isaac’s grip on the headboard to hold him there.

“Good?” Derek wonders.

“Uh-huh,” Isaac gasps. “Fuck me,” he pleads, and that’s all it takes to get Derek going, driving into Isaac with one hard thrust after the next, setting a brutal pace that shakes the bed in rhythm with them and only adds to the sensation. “Derek, I’m gonna--I’m gonna--”

“Wait,” Derek orders, fingernails digging into Isaac’s knuckles as he thrusts in even harder, aiming to reach his climax as soon as Isaac.

“Derek, I _can’t?” Isaac all but sobs. “ _Please._ ”_

_  
“Come on,” Derek assents. “Come for me, Isaac.”_

  
He brings one hand down to stroke Isaac’s throbbing erection and that’s all it takes to have him shooting all over the bed beneath him. His whole body clenches in orgasm; the tightness bringing Derek to his release just a second later, spilling inside Isaac as he bites down hard on Isaac’s shoulder, groan muffled into his skin.  
They collapse back onto the bed, spent and sated. Isaac’s so blissed out that it’s honestly a solid five or ten minutes before he really comes back down to the world. The real world where Eloise is sleeping down the hall and will probably wake soon, and he can’t just pass the fuck out right here and sleep like there’s not a million things to get up and take care of. He grumbles a bit to himself as he rises, body protesting more than a bit now that the adrenaline’s gone.

“I should get cleaned up,” Isaac says, treading to the bathroom. “You can shower or whatever if you want,” he offers.

“Nah, I’ll probably just head home,” Derek replies. “Don’t have any clean clothes or anything anyway.”

“‘Kay.”

Isaac takes a quick five minute shower; Derek’s gone from the room when Isaac steps back in with a towel around his waist. Knowing Derek it’s even odds whether he took off already or is just raiding the kitchen for water and pop tarts. He’s about to go check around when his phone buzzes on the dresser with a familiar number flashing on the screen.

“Stiles?” he says, answering immediately before he can think better of it, mortified at how pathetic he probably sounded.

“Yeah, hey, just wanted to--uh--call and check in on--” _  
_

“Hey, she’s sort of crying,” Derek interrupts, sticking his head back in the bedroom door. “Am I supposed to do something?”

“No, I got it,” Isaac replies, wrapping a towel around his waist. “Hold on, Stiles; El’s awake.”

He opens the door and hurries past Derek. Eloise isn’t crying exactly, it’s just her starting-to-get-hungry fuss. She’s not due for a bottle for about an hour or so, but she’s lost her binky so Isaac gets it from where’s it’s gone out of her reach and puts it back in her mouth, rubbing her belly to soothe her back to sleep.

“Okay, she’s fine,” Isaac says. “What’s up?”

“Is someone else there?” Stiles asks, in lieu of whatever he actually called to talk about.

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Derek.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I just--I was kind of checking in or whatever. I know I left kind of--well, it was just--last night--”

“One time thing, dude,” Isaac swears. “No worries.”

“Oh, yeah, okay, good then. No--no worries,” Stiles stammers, sounding a bit unsure.

“Seriously, Stiles, please don’t worry about it,” Isaac urges, feeling like his heart is about to beat out of his chest he’s so nervous.

_Just worry about Eloise and sticking around and normal college stuff. You don’t have to worry about me trying to jump your bones every chance I get. I lost my head for a second; moment of weakness; it won’t happen again._

“Yeah, okay. I’ll let you get back to Eloise.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He hangs up the phone to find Derek watching from the doorway with an expression Isaac can’t quite read.

“You’re better at this than you thought you’d be,” Derek tells him with a smile.

Isaac remembers too well the day he found out that not only was his brother dead--killed in a fucking car wreck after surviving two tours to the Middle East--but Isaac was the only relative left to care for the surviving infant. He’s glad no social worker was there to witness the aftermath of that call because he handled the news poorly to say the least; not that anything he did to vent the emotion helped, not throwing the phone against the wall and watching it smash to bits, not punching the kitchen counter so hard he nearly broke his hand, not even Derek letting Isaac top without question, getting as rough and desperate as he wanted as he tried to drown all the pain and panic that threatened to consume him.

“Seems like a lifetime ago,” Isaac says, “living with you and just--ya know--the way everything was.”

_Not budgeting or planning grocery lists or waiting for the good diapers to go on sale. Irregular sleep and work schedules. No one to answer to but myself. Derek for company when we were both feeling lonely._

He’d hated Derek for his declaration that he didn’t want to get mixed up in the whole adopting-Eloise situation. He’d understood of course; Derek was friends with Cam, and that was a good enough reason to let Cam’s kid brother rent the extra room for a good price. Sure they became friends in their own right, and they fucked when it suited them, but they weren’t nearly close enough to warrant Derek giving up the lifestyle he enjoyed to help Isaac raise Eloise.

Of course, Stiles was a complete stranger, and he gave up huge parts of his life to help out. But that was the difference between Derek and Stiles. Derek’s wired to survive, same as Isaac. Endured enough shit in his life to give him a tough skin and remind him to look out for his own interests before investing too much in anyone else’s. Stiles cares about everything like it’s his obligation to make the world right. He’s no angel, but he cares about doing the right thing and helping people out and all the kind of moral high road stuff that probably comes with being the son of a public servant.

_Stiles is the kind of person who deserves the best partner he can get in this life; not some fucked up loner with his dead brother’s kid, a GED, and a house full of nightmare memories._

Derek says he’s starving so they end up putting in a frozen pizza for lunch. He’ll be cutting it close with Eloise’s mealtime, and Isaac has the great mental image of Derek cramming pizza in his mouth as he bolts out the door to avoid the baby. All the same, Isaac has missed Derek’s company. They were friends before they were fuck buddies, what had started as just renting Cam’s kid brother a room for cheap had turned into kindred pissed off spirits actually getting along and having some chemistry and taking the edge off of each other’s loneliness. It’s nice with Derek: simple, predictable, and nothing close to the risks that getting involved with Stiles would entail.

_Fuck Derek. Platonic with Stiles. It’s what’s best for everybody. It’s what’ll keep Stiles from leaving me sooner rather than later. It’ll be fine--good even. It’ll be good._

“Well, I should probably get going,” Derek says once they’ve devoured the pizza. “Unless--uh--I mean, you’re good with that, right? We’re still--”

“No strings attached,” Isaac confirms. “No worries, dude,” he says, repeating his words to Stiles.

“Cool.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Isaac offers.

“Thanks, so--uh--gimme a call next time you wanna hook up or whatever,” Derek says, grabbing his jacket from where it was flung on the floor upon his arrival.

“Yeah, sure thing,” Isaac replies.

He watches as Derek pulls on his jacket and heads for the door. He can’t help but admire the view and remember the truth:

_I should be fucking grateful for what I get. I mean, a guy like that shouldn’t look twice at me. God knows he must’ve had better in the sack than my piss poor skills._

As Derek reaches for the door knob, the front door opens, and Stiles stops short.

“Uh--hi?” he says to Derek, who turns to glare back at Isaac like he planned this.

“Just leaving,” Derek informs, gesturing for Stiles to move out of his way and giving a, “Later, Isaac,” as he descends the front steps and heads for his sleek black harley.

“Isn’t that--that’s Derek Hale right?” Stiles asks, coming in and shutting the door behind him. “ _That’s_ the Derek you’ve had over here? The guy whose face was all over the news for that arson case that killed--”

“He was exonerated,” Isaac interrupts, “same as me.”

“Okay, yeah, jumping to conclusions I guess,” Stiles allows, “but how do you know him? Why’s he here?”

“I crashed with Derek after my Dad died, until Eloise and everything. I’ve told you that.”

“Oh, yeah, just--guess I never realized it was him,” Stiles says, still frowning. “So--uh--he came by to--uh--”

“He’s selling Girl Scout Cookies,” Isaac snaps. “What the fuck does it look like he came by for, Stiles?” Isaac demands with a general gesture to his state of appearance: wearing only boxers and sporting hickies and bite marks on his collarbone.

The look on Stiles’ face at the words hits Isaac like a punch to the gut. There’s a bit of anger in the gaze, but much more hurt than anything else. Stiles looks wounded at what Isaac’s done. _  
_

_Why would you care? You can’t want me, Stiles; you shouldn’t._

_You can’t really think you’d want someone like me in the sober light of day._

_You don’t have to bother pretending or trying to work out an excuse to forget last night. It’s all settled. It’s better this way, don’t you understand?_

“So then last night was just--I mean--”

“You were drunk,” Isaac supplies. “It’s cool; I get it. I should’ve stopped you, but I didn’t; so it was what it was; just a one-time thing, right? We'll forget it; like you said."

“Yeah, like I--so then--so I guess--we’re okay?”

“We’re fine,” Isaac lies. “Like it never happened.”

A cry from down the hall informs that Eloise is fully woken up now and demanding to be fed.

“Duty calls,” Stiles says with a wry smile.

Isaac knows him well enough to guess Stiles would like to keep talking about this, but Isaac’s got no desire to stand and try to look unaffected while Stiles tries to find a polite way of letting him down easy. It’s best to just ignore this thing and not let it fuck up their lives any more than it has to; Stiles will forget it ever even happened soon enough.

******************************************************************

“I don’t like the idea of Derek around Eloise,” Stiles says over dinner.

He’s been quiet all evening, but Isaac was too afraid of the answer to ask what was wrong.

“Exonerated,” Isaac repeats tersely.

“Even so, Isaac, he’s just--he--”

“Has a record?” Isaac suggests. “Seems angry? Drives a motorcycle?”he goes on, purposely choosing the potentially undesirable traits that he and Derek share.

“I just mean--”

“You don’t know him, Stiles. There’s no reason he can’t be around her--except that he doesn’t really care for kids. Derek wasn’t even in the same room as Eloise, didn’t want to be.”

“Well then maybe you should hook up at _his_ place next time.”

“This is _my_ house, Stiles; I can have people over if I want.”

“I’m not saying you can’t; I’m just saying that maybe it would be _better_ if--”

“Look, he’s not exactly going to hang out all the time. It’s just once in a while, quick, done, gone; if you’re here, then I’ll go to his place, but if not, he’s coming here sometimes. It’s not a big deal, Stiles. She’s not even your kid.”

Stiles eyes darken at the comment.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Isaac backtracks hastily. “I just meant--you don’t have to worry so much--and--I mean--”

“Oh, I think I understand _exactly_ what you mean,” Stiles says icily. “Not my house. Not my kid. Not my place to have an opinion.”

Stiles stares down at his food, angrily stabbing the pasta with his fork.

“You know that’s not what I’m saying. Yeah, you get an opinion and everything. Just that--look, it just came out wrong, Stiles; don’t be so pissed.”

“You are _unbelievable_ ; you know that?” Stiles demands. “Fucking unbelievable.”

“ _I’m_ unbelievable?”

“Did I _stutter_?!”

Stiles shoves his chair back from the table, and Isaac can’t breathe. He knows where this is going.

“I need some air,” Stiles says tersely, stalking out of the kitchen.

“Stiles, wait a damn second, would you?” Isaac tries to keep himself from grabbing Stiles and preventing him from leaving Eloise and himself, but he stops short in the middle of the living room, determined not to let his anger get the best of him.

“Fuck off, Isaac!” he retorts without slowing in his march for the door. “I said I need some air. Leave me alone,” he orders, grabbing his keys off the rack as he opens the door.

“Okay, but you’re--”

“Don’t bother to wait up,” he adds before he slams it shut behind him.

  
Isaac’s hand is on the doorknob when he hears Stiles’ jeep roar to life in the driveway, and before he can get out the door to stop him, Eloise’s wail from all the commotion draws his attention.

_But you’re coming back, right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isaac you idiot! Can't you see that Stiles loves you?
> 
> Sorry, not sorry?
> 
> Also, yes, this did start out as a small ball of fluff, _but_ as seems to be our ~~curse~~ blessing we are far too attached to this world to let go too quickly, which is why we decided to start throwing in some angst with the fluff :P aaaaand why we've decided *cue drumroll* to make this at least a two part series! :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been so long! hope y'all enjoy!

 

            Stiles came out to dance and get drunk at Lydia’s suggestion; it’d been pretty awesome at first, losing himself in the craziness of the crowd.  But Lydia’s not _actually_ here; she’s partying in New York at some fabulous fashion expo; and Stiles is flying solo and fast-approaching the level of intoxication that doesn’t so much energize him as make him tired enough to slow down and start contemplating life.  Stiles is too sloshed to keep up with the bass beat of this techno mix that’s got the dancefloor jumping.  

            He retreats to the bar, taking a seat on a vacant stool as the bartender frowns and walks over.

            “You’re not 21, Stiles,” he says.  “The whole town knows, so don’t bother flashing me a fake to--”

            “I just want a Coke or something, okay?”

            The man’s expression softens a bit.  “Rough start to the New Year?”

            Stiles nods, “The worst.”

            “Well, look on the bright side,” he suggests as he fills a cup with the requested soft drink.  “At least the year can only get better?”

            “Fucking hope so,” Stiles mutters in reply, taking the offered beverage as the guy moves on to fill the next order.

            He sits in silence, chest thrumming with the volume of the music as he sips his Coke, surveying the writhing dancers with drunken indifference.

“Whoever she is, she’s an idiot,” the girl says, taking the seat beside Stiles at the bar.  

“Huh?” he replies automatically, turning to address the only other person at the bar.  

“Whoever made you want to come out and get _this_ drunk,” she waves her hand to his pathetic and slumped form, “and put that miserable look on your face,” she clarifies with a pitying smile, her hands going to clutch at the ginger ale the bartender sets in front of her.  

She looks vaguely familiar, but Stiles has no idea how he might know her.  She’s got messy blonde hair and a smile that’s bright but not quite as bold as her bright red lipstick suggests she might want it to be.  He sighs as he takes another sip of his drink, wishing it were something stronger, but his flask is empty.

“Oh,” he says simply. Stiles gets lost in watching the bubbles of his Coke break the surface of the dark drink.

“I’m serious,” she persists, startling Stiles with her insistance.  “She’s an idiot.  Not that it takes a rocket scientist to know that pushing away a smart, sarcastic, goofball like Stiles Stilinski is completely moronic.”

“You know me?” he blurts before he can think better of it.  

“Philosophy,” she replies, “English last semester.  Some classes in high school.”

“Shit, I’m a total jackass; I--”

“I sit in the back,” she interjects with a shrug. “I hate talking in class.  Don’t worry about it,”  she tells him.

“Emily?” he wonders because the only memory of her name his clouded mind can conjure is the letter ‘E’.

“Erica,” she corrects.  “Erica Reyes.”

“Right, Erica, I’m _so_ sorry; I should know--”

“Well, now you do,” she says simply, smile still unwavering.  

“Yeah, won’t forget; I swear.”

“Better not,” she warns with a swagger that Stiles is starting to think might be attributed to liquid courage--since he doubts he’d have gone _years_ without noticing a girl like Erica.

Of course, she probably doesn’t wear skintight shirts that flaunt her breasts perfectly or jeans so tight they look painted on.  

Silence falls between them.  He looks away from her when he realizes he’s staring at her chest and not her face, staring down at his drink instead.  He can still feel her gaze on him and can’t help but fidget a bit.  

“Don’t be shy,” she says with a laugh.  “I wouldn’t be over here if I wasn’t hoping you were interested,” she points out.

Stiles makes a point of meeting only her eyes when he turns back to her.  She’s got lovely eyes really: they seem kind, even under her mask of bravado.  

“So you wanna talk about it?” she wonders.

“Not really much to say. It’s not even close to official with us--I shouldn’t’ve assumed he’d--I was a fucking idiot, and he’s an asshole,” Stiles finishes, silently cursing his disjointed, rambling reply to her.

“Oh--uh-- _he_? That’s--didn’t realize you were--” Erica’s face falls, and Stiles backtracks quickly, laying his hand over one of hers, silently hoping she’ll stay.

“I’m not,” he interrupts. “Well,” he hedges.  “I dunno; I mean--I tend to focus more on personality that genetalia,” Stiles replies honestly.  “Doesn’t matter anyway--since I mostly just throw myself at people who have no interest in me whatsoever.” He shrugs again and looks back at his drink, the words’ bitter truth hitting harder than usual in his current state.

_Lydia for all those years; then I finally get over her only to go after a guy with a million other things to care about besides me; who plays along with my drunken advances but clearly isn’t remotely invested or interested in anything with me if he’s in bed with Derek Hale less than twenty-four hours later._

“You don’t deserve being treated like that,” she says earnestly, turning her palm and grasping his hand.  

“Huh?”

“Lydia and whoever the guy is, they--”

“Fuck, I said that _out loud_!?”

“Yeah,” she says, pity back on her face.

“Awesome,” Stiles says wryly, wishing fervently that the floor would open and swallow him up.  

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?” she wonders.  

_Really? You’re gonna pick the poor lovesick bastard who’s moping at the bar drinking a Coke because the flask ran dry?_

_I shouldn’t...not really.  I should go home._

_No, fuck that. I deserve to have some fun.  Isaac clearly doesn't want me, but why the fuck should that mean I can’t take someone else up on their offer?_

“Hell yeah,” Stiles answers with a grin, pulling her from her stool.

“Hey wait! Don’t forget your phone,” Erica grabs it from its position by the half finished coke and pulls Stiles into her, grinning up mischieviously. Stiles is really too dazed by the sudden movement to do anything but sigh at the contact when she reaches around him to slip the phone into his back pocket and lead him out of the bar and towards her car outside.

Erica tosses a mostly full flask to stiles that he only barely manages to catch against his chest, and Stiles smiles at her gratefully.

“Looks like you could use it tonight.” She seems slightly resigned with the statement, but Stiles lets his worry go in favor of more alcohol.

Stiles couldn’t agree more as he drains the contents on the way back to her apartment.

 

*********************************************************

 

            It’s impossible not to appreciate the beauty of Erica’s body as they shed their clothes on the way through her apartment to the bedroom.  She falls back on the bed, shimmying out of her jeans as she looks hungrily up at Stiles.  He leaves his pants in a pile on the floor as he joins her on the bed and his phone clatters on the hardwood floor, buzzing with a couple of alerts he ignored on the drive over, but he could care less with Erica laid out before him. He braces with his elbow to loom over her and lean down for another kiss, closing his eyes to relish the sensation, her small, cool hands running down his back as she sighs with contentment.

            But every damn time he shuts his eyes all Stiles can think of is Isaac:

            The firm, demanding seal of Isaac’s lips to his; the feel of his fingers tangled in Isaac’s curls; the sharp smell of his aftershave; the lust in his eyes when he’d told Stiles to just fucking come in his pants as they rutted against each other on the couch, living out a moment Stiles had been guiltily dreaming about for _months._

            “Stiles?” Erica says, interrupting Stiles’ thoughts.  “You okay?”

            “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he replies quickly.  “Sorry.”

            But when their lips meet again, Isaac’s still there in his mind, somehow more present than the stunning woman on the bed beneath him.  

            “I can’t do this,” Stiles admits, pulling away and sitting up.  “ _Fuck_ ,” he curses.  “I just--it’s not you; you’re fucking gorgeous, Erica, but I--I can’t get him out of my head and--”

            “You got it bad, huh?” she supposes with a knowing sigh.  

            “No, I jus--”

            “You got it bad,” she repeats more firmly.  “I know the look, Stiles; I know the feeling.  It _sucks_.”

            “Yeah, it sucks.”

            “Does he know?” she wonders, and Stiles just shrugs as they sit up against the pillows at the head of the bed.  

            “Kinda...we ah---yesterday, New Years Eve and all and I was drunk and...we just...but by this afternoon he was with someone else--with an old fling that I guess I didn’t realize was still on the table for him.”

            “Ouch,” she comments, and Stiles nods in unabashed agreement.  “So that’s what tonight was about? Forgetting him and having some fun of your own? Tit for tat?”

            “Except apparently he manages to fuck me over even when he’s not here.”

            “He doesn’t have to know that.”

            “Huh?”

            “I’ve got a couch.  You stay the night, it’s no one’s business but ours what happened.”

            “I couldn’t ask you to--”

            “I’m _offering._ Love blows; I know; trust me.  Let me give you a _little_ ammunition against him.”

            “You are _such_ an awesome person.  Can we be best friends?” Stiles wonders when he lays his head on her shoulder, deflecting his deep gratitude at her understanding with his typical humor.  

            “That could be fun,” she concedes as she pats his head.  “Ask me again when you’re not half drunk and lovesick and it’s not two am.”

            “Okay.”

            “Come on,” she bids with a sigh.  “I’ll grab you a blanket and shit for the couch.”

            The couch calls him to the most blissful rest he’s ever had, and distantly he reminds himself that getting this smashed two nights in a row isn’t a habit he should continue to form. Somewhere far away Stiles can hear Erica talking to something… someone… he doesn’t figure out what she could be up to before sleep steals the question away.

 

****************************

 

            Stiles wakes to the sound of harsh pounding.  He flails in alarm, tangling himself in the blanket covering him and falls off the couch.  He squints against the ray of light shining in through the blinds, studying the room around him as he recalls the  events of the previous evening.

 _“_ Sheriff’s Department,” a stern voice announces from the other side of Erica’s front door.  “Open up.”

“Stiles, what the _fuck_ are the police doing at my apartment at _six in the morning_?!” Erica demands as she emerges from her bedroom in nothing but red panties and a black camisole. “Answer it!”

“Me?” Stiles looks over the back of the couch, the pounding behind his eyes forcing him to cover them up in hopes of relief. None comes.

“It’s way too early for pants,” she declares, retreating back into her room and shutting the door as Stiles rises to his feet, the slam still echoing in his already abused skull.

He shuffles toward the front door, rubbing the sore shoulder that took most of the force of his not-so-graceful landing.  Maybe he should care that he’s only wearing boxers and there’s a ninety-nine percent chance that he knows the deputy waiting in the hall, but by the time he considers it, he’s already got a hand on the doorknob.  

“Stiles Stilinski,” the voice calls too loudly for Stiles’ aching head.  “If you’re in there, I need you to open this door _immediately._ ”

There’s an urgency to the command that has Stiles suddenly fearing the worst, and he yanks the door open to demand.

“Is my dad okay?!”

“The sheriff’s fine,” Deputy Stanton replies with a disapproving look to Stiles’ attire.  “We had an anonymous tip that you might be in some kind of danger and--”

Stiles interrupts the explanation with a groan.

“I’m twenty years old; the man is going to have to accept that I have a life beyond the nine o’clock curfew he attempted to enforce in high school.”

“That’s between you and the sheriff, Stiles.  I was just asked to check on your whereabouts once we located your coordinates and--”

“He _tracked my phone_?!” Stiles demands incredulously.

“Again, that’s something between you and the sheriff,” Stanton repeats with a sigh.  “I’ve just been instructed to take you home.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a big boy; I’ll find my way on my own thanks,” Stiles answers, moving to shut the door in Stanton’s face, but the deputy smacks a hand against it to prevent Stiles’ retreat.  “Seriously?” Stiles demands with a frown.

“Whose good side do you think I care about being on? Yours or the sheriff’s?” Stanton wonders.  

“What’re you going to do? Taze me?”

“You really think your father would mind that much?”

“You suck,” Stiles says with a sigh of defeat; judging by the deep frown lines practically carved into Stanton’s face, the deputy agrees that it is _far_ too early for this bullshit.  He’s likely just as put out as Stiles over the whole situation.

_I’ll save it for Dad._

“Back at you, Stilinski.  Grab some clothes, and move it,” Stanton orders.  “I’ve got more important things to deal with than bailing you out of your one night stands.”

 

*****************************************************

 

            Stiles is boiling with rage by the time they pull into the drive at Dad’s.  He slams the cruiser door shut behind him as he storms up to the house.  Dad opens the front door as Stiles marches up the steps.

            “Where the _hell_ have you been?!” Dad demands.

            “None of your goddamn business! What the _fuck,_ Dad? Sending a _deputy_ to come get me? Really? _Really?!_ You’ve pulled the over-protective card before but this is _ridiculous_!”

            “What was I supposed to do? We tried calling but instead of you we got some girl telling us that you couldn’t answer; we took a look at the tapes from the bar you left your Jeep at; you were _clearly_ drunk off your ass when you left with that girl.  You even know who she was, Stiles? Or did you just pick her out of the crowd? She could’ve been an axe murderer for all you knew--or slipped something in that flask she offered you on the way out the door.  I thought I taught you to be _smart_ about those kinds of--”

            “How did you even know I was out?”

            “Isaac was worried sick about--”

            “Isaac?” he repeats incredulously.  “ _Isaac?!_ ” Stiles storms in the house to sit down, he’s not going to be told off like a disobedient dog at the front door.

            “Yes Isaac! You should be ashamed of yourself, worrying him like that! He showed up at three in the morning losing his mind because--” his dad hounds as he follows Stiles inside.

            “I don’t give a _fuck_ what Isaac was doing or why! This is none of his fucking business either!”

            “Stiles, you--”

            “I’m not talking to you about this anymore, Dad.   You stepped _way_ over the line, and so did he and I’m going home to give him a piece of--” Stiles turns to go sit on the couch because his hangover can’t take the volume of this argument to come face to face with Isaac, looking even more pissed than when Stiles stormed out last night.

            “Save yourself the drive,” Isaac’s terse voice interjects.  “I’m right here.”

            “What’re you doing here? Where’s El? Is she--”

            “She’s fine; she’s here too.” Isaac points to the armchair where Eloise is happily entertaining herself with the singing reindeer in the bumpo.

            “He didn’t have my number,” Dad explains, “since you apparently never bothered to share it, and after _hours_ of no answer from you and then some strange woman answering your phone for you, he got Eloise out in the middle of the night to come ask me to--”

            “To track me down like some untrusted criminal because Isaac’s a fucking _possessive hypocritical asshole_?!” Stiles interjects.

            Eloise’s cry conveys her distaste for the commotion, and Isaac sighs exhaustedly.  “Sheriff, could you--”

            “Be happy to,” he replies as he scoops El up, all the anger from his face melting away as he dances the reindeer in front of her, quelling her protests.  “Seems like you boys have plenty to work through.”

            He’s studying Sitles now, anger ebbing as curiosity comes to the surface instead.  No doubt there’s a million different analyses of Stiles’ choices of adjectives for Isaac that have Dad wondering exactly what he’s missed between the two young men.  He retreats with Eloise upstairs, leaving Stiles and Isaac standing silently in the foyer.

            “You called my dad on me?” Stiles wonders, attempting to keep a level tone.  “What the hell gives you the right to--”

            “I was _worried,_ Stiles; I didn’t know what the hell else to do! You were pissed and I knew you’d probably do something stupid and I didn’t want you getting hurt without--”

            “It’s _none_ of your business, Isaac! Isn’t that what you said about Derek? That it’s not for me to worry about or have an opinion about or whatever?! Well, same goes for my love life, got it?”

            “You--you should be more careful about it; you shouldn’t--” Isaac looks way too fucking sincere and it only enrages Stiles further.

Who does he think he is anyways? He’s not _allowed_ to look so concerned because Isaac doesn’t get to fucking _care._

            “You’re not the fucking _boss_ of me just because I help with Eloise!”

            “I’m not trying to be your boss, dammit; I’m trying to be a good friend.”

            “I think we both know you’re being more than that,” Stiles retorts unforgivingly, closing the space between them until he’s invading Isaac’s space to snarl the words in his face, intent on making Isaac understand that it is, in fact, possible for Stiles to be desirable.  “And just because _you_ don’t want me doesn’t mean other people don’t, so I can fuck whoever I want, same as you; I can go out; I can get drunk; and _you’re_ not the only one who can steal drunken kisses whenever you feel like it. Erica was fucking _amazing;_ maybe I’ll bring her home when _you’re_ not around. We’ll start a fun little timesheet for when our fuck buddies can--”

            “Goddammit, Stiles!” Isaac growls, gripping Stiles’ shoulders too tight as he pushes him back a bit but still holds him close.  “I can’t--I just--you don’t _understand_!” he insists, fingers digging deeper into Stiles’ shoulders with every word.

            “Pretty sure I do,” Stiles replies coldly.  “I’m supposed to be fine with you and Derek fucking each other but you can’t handle me with other people, or apparently even just leaving the house for a night?  Talk about a double standard;” Stiles scoffs, glaring down at Isaac’s fingers, “You’re a--”

            “No,” Isaac interjects, and the word catches in his throat almost like a sob as he releases Stiles and turns away.  

            “No?”

            “You’re missing my point; you don’t get it; I can’t--I can’t--” Isaac’s words choke off into silence.

            “Then explain your fucking point,” Stiles demands.  “Tell me what the _hell_ gave you the right to invade my life the _one_ night I tried to go out and have something _just_ for me! Tell me, Isaac! Tell me whatever bullshit problem you’ve got that you think I don’t understand!”

            “I thought I might fucking lose you last night, okay?!” Isaac retorts angrily, turning his face back toward Stiles for just a moment before shutting his eyes tight like tears are threatening to spill.

            _Angry tears.  He’s just that pissed off.  Isaac doesn’t cry._

“Huh?” Stiles replies dumbly, word blurted in confusion and curiosity before he can think of anything more intelligent.

            “It’s not that you went out or that you spent the night with her; you can be with whoever you want; I fucking know that even if I don’t like it or agree with you or whatever but--you have to understand that I can’t fucking lose you, okay?” Isaac admits, voice low and strained as he delivers the speech to the far wall; Stiles wishes more than anything that Isaac would turn back around and say it to his face.  

“I know that I don’t have _any_ fucking right to say shit like that to you,” Isaac goes on, obliquely glancing back to Stiles. “But it was bad enough sitting there waiting for you to come home when I thought maybe it was me being an asshole that would mean you didn't come back.  I just assumed you’d end up at your Dad’s or Scott’s, ya know? I thought maybe you’d wait until morning to come back for round two and we’d yell some more but then be okay or something.”  Isaac pauses to draw in a shaky breath.  “But then--then it was so fucking late, and you weren’t answering your phone, so I was kind of worried.  Then that girl answered--just said you were drunk and left it at that and--and she wouldn’t put you on the line.  Even if you’d’ve been drunk off your ass just to _hear_ you say you were okay would’ve been--I wouldn’t have _liked_ it, but I’d’ve known you were basically okay.”

“Isaac, it’s not that nuts to be out _one_ night without checking in.  I mean how many times have _you_ done--”

“I’m not saying it’s rational! None of this shit is rational! Not you coming to help some stranger from Target with a baby in the middle of the night! Not moving in to help me raise the kid! Not loving her so damn much that she’s just about as much yours as mine now! You’re right; I’ve had way worse nights, done things just as stupid and worse, but I wasn’t thinking like a sane person.  I don’t know why I reacted like that I just--I lost my mind, okay? I lost my goddamn mind sitting there thinking of all the shit that might happen to you because _I_ pissed you off enough to have you out there getting drunk and just--I wasn’t thinking about anything but making sure that I didn’t lose you, too because I just _can’t._ ”

            His voice breaks on the last word and Isaac falls silent as he ducks his head, hand coming up to wipe down his face and Stiles can’t help but notice that he tries his palm on his jeans after.

            _Shit, Isaac, you really are crying? Not angry, pissed crying either.  Scared, sad, miserable crying._

_Crying over me?_

_Why?_

And like a sucker punch to the gut Stiles remembers that Isaac’s lost _everyone_.  One by one until he’s the last person standing, and no wonder his mind can easily conjure up the worst possible scenarios; half his life has been one awful situation after another.  Stiles takes a step toward Isaac, reaching a hesitant hand out to touch Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac’s shrugs off the contact, still not turning to face Stiles.

            “I’m right here, dude; I’m not going anywhere; you’re not gonna lose me,” he swears.  “I just--I was blowing off steam and--”

            “Nobody _plans_ it,” Isaac points out bitterly.  “No one fucking _plans_ to--” his sentence chokes off as his voice breaks again, and Stiles watches Isaac do his best to wipe the emotion off his face, staring at the ceiling and blinking hard.  “And I was the reason you were out in the first place; it would’ve been _my_ fault if--if something--if we lost you, and El--she needs you, okay? She shouldn’t lose the one decent guy she’s got looking out for her just because I’m a--a possessive hypocritical asshole,” Isaac finishes and turns to look at him, using Stiles’ own insult. The words suddenly seem much too harsh.

            “You’re not _always_ an asshole,” Stiles concedes with a forced laugh trying to fight the thickness in the back of his own throat.  “You’re pretty great most of the time; you’re _always_ great with Eloise.  Even if I wasn’t around she’d be more than okay with you for an uncle, Isaac.  Don’t sell yourself short.”

            “If it bothers you this much, I don’t have to see Derek or have him over or whatever.”

Isaac stuffs his hands in his pockets, face carefully void of emotion.

            “It’s really none of my business; I was just--New Years Eve kind of threw one hell of wrench into the works on what we had going.”

            “Yeah,” Isaac agrees with a sigh.

            “Guess it wasn’t quite as easy to forget as either of us was hoping.”

            “Guess not.”

            An awkward silence falls between the two before Stiles breaks it, his thoughts accidentally turning into words as he runs his concerns through his mind.

            _I didn’t really want to forget it though. And what if you... well you already made that pretty clear with Derek..._

            “But it--if this is where we’re at after _one_ quick thing and the fallout after...I’m not sure we should--but--what do you--what do _we_ want to do about it?”

            “Our lives are probably complicated enough, right?” Isaac supposes.

            “Right,” Stiles agrees automatically, though he’s _aching_ to just jerk Isaac forward and kiss him right fucking now and see if they can work all this out without the words.  “Complicated enough without adding, uh, more to the mix, so we’ll--we’ll keep our love lives out of it; do our own thing with whoever we want, but we’ll be reasonable.  No more drunken escapades on my end, I swear.  Derek was kind of a surprise, but if--if you trust him at the house then I guess I do to,” Stiles concedes.

            _I can’t very well stand here and scream at him for hindering my life and then turn around and criticize his choices.  I can play fair.  I’m not going to take advantage of his fear of being alone with Eloise.  I can suck it up and let him do his own thing._

_And if I conbust with jealousy and fury over the thought of you casual-fucking Derek Hale, well...guess that’s just a hazard I’ve got to accept._

“If you--ya know--if she--or whoever--if you trust them to be around El they could come to the house,” Isaac offers.  “No one expects you to be a monk or whatever.”

            “Yeah, okay,” Stiles says.  “Thanks.”

            He knows already that having Erica over or going to her place will be only for show, but maybe there’ll be someone else eventually, someone who manages to overshadow Isaac’s presence in his mind.

            But Stiles doubts it.

            Erica’s words echo in his mind: _You got it bad.  I know the look, Stiles; I know the feeling.  It sucks._

“Come on,” Stiles says tiredly.  “We should get Ellie home, and you look like you could use some sleep.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that we're both in classes now, so updates may be sporadic and/or slow. Thanks in advance for understanding! <3
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while! hope y'all enjoy!

It’s been two weeks since New Years, but moments of the day still replay in Isaac’s head all the time: the girl--Erica--answering Stiles’ phone; the sheriff’s anxious questions when Isaac showed up at three in the morning; the relief of hearing Stiles was found safe; how pissed Stiles was; how pathetic Isaac sounded when he tried to explain everything; the ache in his chest as he and Stiles agreed that they didn’t need the complication of anything between them.

That ache never really goes away.

“Hey,” Derek’s voice cuts in sharply.  “Earth to Isaac.”

“What?” he asks dumbly, eyes focusing back to where Derek’s rummaging in the fridge as he straightens up from his slump at the kitchen table.

“I said there’s not much in here,” he repeats.  “You want to order something or should I just grab something on my way home?”

“Pizza?” Isaac suggests.

“Chinese,” Derek vetoes.

“Okay, sure.”

“What do you want?” Derek wonders as he grabs his phone from the counter.  

“Whatever,” Isaac says with a shrug.  “I’m not that hungry.”

“Dude, you have got to either fuck Stiles or get over it,” Derek says with an exasperated sigh.  “You’re killing me with this mopey, lovesick--”

“Fuck you; I am not lovesick,” Isaac retorts.

“You are, and you know it; Stiles is even worse than you are.  I’ll end up putting him out of his misery myself if I have to be in a room more than five minutes with him.  Why the fuck can’t you two just--”

“Shut the hell up, would you? I didn’t hear you complaining when I asked you to come over.”

“Yeah, well--”

“Look, just--can we not?” Isaac requests, sliding his hands over his face.  “This is supposed to be simple and easy and stress relieving.” Not exhausting like it’s been the previous four times they’ve hooked up. Derek leaves his keys on the counter and comes around to join Isaac, food apparently forgotten for now.

“Whatever you say, Romeo,” Derek obliges, sitting down in Stiles’ spot.  “You catch the game the other night? That was some bullshit calls from the refs, right? Cost me fifty fucking bucks in a bet with Cason Hendricks.”

 

***********************************************************

It’s the last day of January before Isaac has his first encounter with Erica.  Stiles has gone over to her place plenty of nights; she’s come over a few times while Isaac’s been at work.  He’s never had the punch-to-the-gut moment of seeing them together though.  Honestly, he didn’t expect it to be that bad when he saw her car in the drive on his way in; he definitely didn’t expect to find himself entirely unable to breathe and ready to ram a first through the wall and cry like a fucking baby all at the same time at the sight of Erica in his living room with Stiles and Eloise.

“Tell stupid, silly Stiles that I’m clearly your favorite,” Erica bids in exaggerated baby talk.  “Aren’t I?” she goes on, tossing El up in the air to catch her, and Eloise giggles madly.  “Aren’t I your favorite person, Ellie belle?  You’re gonna say my name soon, aren’t ya?”

It’s the perfect scene.  It belongs in a movie or on a postcard or something: Stiles in the recliner, smiling over his criminal psych textbook as Erica plays in the floor with Eloise.  

And Isaac’s just standing in the doorway feeling as though he’s going to puke.

_This is the kind of family Ellie should have had.  This is the kind of post card life I’m never going to be able to give her--not quite; no matter how hard I try._

But he can’t let that thought show, can’t bat an eye at the fact that he’d love to kick Erica out of the house right this instant and tell Stiles exactly what Derek’s been goading him to confess for months.  Instead Isaac wipes his face clear of emotion and buries the ache in his chest underneath the guise of exhaustion.

“Hey, you’re home early,” Stiles comments, greeting him with a smile so genuine Isaac wants to punch him--or maybe kiss him.

_Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it for a fucking minute.  Think about Eloise.  Think about the best thing for Eloise.  Me dating Stiles is not the best thing for Eloise._

As if she’s been cued, Eloise calls his name happily.

“Iyaac!” she greets, squirming in Erica’s grasp as she reaches toward him.  

He moves immediately to take her, grateful for the excuse.  The solid weight of her in his arms is more reassuring than anything else in the world; it clears his head like fighting used to, letting the rest of the world fade away in favor of the purpose of the moment: the purpose of looking out for El.

_And me dating Stiles is not the best thing for Eloise…_

 

********************************************

 

When Isaac wakes the world is still spinning, but any and all buzz from the alcohol is gone.  He aches everywhere, stretching gingerly and already able to tell exactly where the bruises have started forming.  Derek’s long gone--no surprise there.  It’s not like last night was anything remotely romantic and Valentine’s-night-worthy; it was just two pissed off, fuck buddies desperately trying to stave off the loneliness.

Again.

Isaac keeps swearing that he’s going to call off this arrangement, but he’s just lying to himself every time he contemplates it.  He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror as he shuffles to the shower, staying in under the spray until the water runs cold.  It loosens his stiff muscles but doesn’t do much for the hangover that sure to make the rest of the day hell.  He wonders briefly if John and Melissa would hate his guts for asking they keep Ellie until the afternoon.  Their offer to keep both Kit and Eloise to give everyone else a kid-free evening was a kind one, but Isaac should’ve known better than to think he could keep his shit together with no Stiles and no Eloise around.  He’s every bit the fuck-up he’s always been; they’re the only reason he’s worth much of anything.

As he steps out of the shower, his eyes flit to the razor sitting on the edge of the sink, but before he can even fully form the thought, the sound of the front door slamming open makes him wince.  

“Isaac?!” Stiles calls through the house, “You still asleep? Rise and shine, dude; it’s almost noon!”

_I’m gonna fucking murder him if he doesn’t shut up._

He wraps a towel around his waist and ventures back out to the bedroom, rummaging through the laundry basket of clean clothes he hasn’t yet put away to find something to put on.  Stiles knocks a little rhythm on the door that echoes painfully in Isaac’s ears.  

“Isaac?”

“Uh-huh,” Isaac grumbles back in reply.

“Come on; I brought food.”

“Not hungry,” Isaac replies, foot snagging as he tries to put on boxers, sending him stumbling across the floor a few steps before catching himself on the dresser.

“Did you fall? Are you okay?” Stiles wonders, opening the door just as Isaac gets his boxers on.

“I’m fine, just not quite awake,” Isaac replies.

Stiles stops short just one step into the room.  His eyes widen in something akin to horror as he takes in the sight of Isaac, the plastic bag from the local thai place thudding to the floor.  Isaac glances down at the array of bruises that must be the reason for the look and groans inwardly at the conversation coming.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Stiles demands.

“Nothing,” Isaac replies, snatching a shirt and yanking it on as quickly as possible despite his protesting muscles.

“Did you get in a fight last night?”

“No.”

“Who was it?” Stiles demands.  

“Stiles, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing.’ You look like someone used you as a punching bag.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Isaac dismisses as he pushes past Stiles and out into the hall.

“Who was it?” Stiles repeats.  “Did you file a report?”

Isaac can’t stop the cynical huff of laughter that escapes him as he mutters bitterly, “Like the cops would even bother taking a report from a Lahey.”

“Hey, hey, dude, they totally would.  I can call my dad and--”

“It’s fine; I didn’t get beat up, okay? I can hold my fucking own.”

“Then what happened?”

“It was Valentine’s, and I was kid-free.  Spent my night the same way you spent yours.”

Stiles’ face stays blank a moment or two before the words click.  

“Derek did that to you?!” Stiles demands, incredulous.

“It’s really none of your business,” Isaac says firmly.

“It is if he’s hurting you!”

“Could you fucking lower your voice to a normal human level before you shatter my eardrums?” Isaac hisses.  “Jesus Christ, Stiles.”

“Isaac, I’m not kidding. He can’t just--”

“Mind your own business,” Isaac snaps again.

“You talk to my dad or I’ll talk to him for you,” Stiles threatens as he walks into the room, his hands emphasizing his point.  “Derek won’t get away with--”

“With what? You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Isaac retorts, pushing past him, almost running down the stairs to seek out a glass of water in the kitchen and avoid looking Stiles in the face. Stiles is right behind him, holding on to the conversation despite Isaac’s desperate attempts to extinguish it.

“I know that he hurt you, Isaac. That’s all I need to know.  I’ll fucking kill him myself if he so much as thinks about laying a finger on you again, and--” Stiles’ hands hover above his shoulders, and his face is way too close to Isaac’s, way too concerned.

_Maybe if I ki--_

Stiles lays his palms over his shoulders, and Isaac winces, the bruises from Derek stealing away anything that could have been nice about the gesture. He brushes Stiles off, feeling more crushed than usual.

“I wanted it to happen, okay? Would you just shut up for once in your life?”

“What?” Stiles asks dumbly, his arms hovering awkwardly before he notices and folds them in front of him, still angry.  

“If I like it rough, it’s none of your business and definitely not something you get to judge me for, so just--keep your opinions to yourself,” Isaac snaps.  “I don’t need a knight in shining armor; I don’t need your advice on my love life; I just need a couple aspirin, some water, and two fucking minutes of quiet before we go get Eloise.”

Stiles opens and closes his mouth.  Underneath the general flabberghasted look is a bit of hurt at the outburst.  He was trying to stick up for Isaac, and he almost feels bad for shoving it back in Stiles’ face.  

Almost.

Except that Stiles came in all happy and bringing food and there’s a stupid ass pink stuffed teddy bear on the counter with a dorky balloon tied to it; Erica no doubt got him the cliche presents as part of their picture-perfect, rainbow-vomit-inducing, everything-Isaac-won’t-ever-have Valentine’s evening.

So instead of apologizing Isaac turns away and heads for the fridge to grab a bottle of water.  Stiles stands silenced in the middle of the kitchen for another moment or two before he retreats back into the den.  Despite his aching head, Isaac’s grateful for the noise of the television to fill the abnormal silence.

_It’s gonna be a long fucking day..._

 

*************************

 

Isaac’s day at work was far from great, but Stiles is bogged down with midterms.  He takes Eloise off Stiles’ hands for a while to make a run for dinner. Isaac lets the happy way Ellie sings along with the kiddie song CD in the car put him at ease.  It’s a compilation of songs Stiles and Lydia put together for the birthday party.  Isaac still can’t believe the tiny infant that Allison dropped off is turning one in less than two weeks.     

“It’s going to be one heck of a party, Ellie; your Aunt Lydia out-did herself planning it.  You’ll have a blast.”

“Iddy,” she repeats, her version of Lydia’s name.  

Much to Stiles’ dismay, she still hasn’t managed any version of his name.  Isaac hopes it happens soon.  For all their arguing lately, Stiles still loves Eloise to death; he’s put in more dad-duty than any non-father should have to; he deserves some of the awesome pseudo-dad perks.

“How about Stiles, Ellie. Can you say Stiles?”

“Iddy.”

“Stiles,” Isaac tries again.

“Iyaac.”

“No, Ellie.  Stiles.”

“Iyaac,” she replies, repeating her own name for him.

“Stiles. Stiles. Stiles?”

“Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” she responds before quickly evolving into her own sing-song of her favorite vowel sounds.

“You gotta work on that one, El,” Isaac informs with a sigh.  “Stiles?” he repeats hopefully.  “Stiles?”

She blows a spit bubble and claps for herself.

“Stilinski?” he suggests jokingly.

“Linni,” she replies quickly, and Isaac’s jaw drops at the apparent successful parroting attempt.

“Say it again,” he bids.  “Stilinski.”

“Linky.”

“Ellie! Oh my gosh!! Holy shit!”

“Id!”

“No, not that word; don’t learn that one. Stilinski. Do it again. Stilinski.”

“Linky,” she repeats, clearly delighted at Isaac’s excitement. “Linky; linky; linky!”

Isaac fumbles for his phone.

_Stiles is going to be so fucking excited! Holy shit!_

Stiles answers on the third ring.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Listen!” Isaac commands, hitting the speakerphone button and holding the phone in the air as he says.  “Come on, El. Stilinski.  Say it again,” he urges, praying this isn’t one of her famous won’t-do-it-as-soon-as-you-try-to-show-me-off moments.   “Stilinski.”

“Isaac, if this is a joke, I will murder you with my bare--”

“Linky!” Ellie cries finally.  “Linky!”

“Holy shit.  Is that--that’s her version of my name--well, last name but a name! At this point she could call me dumbass for all I care if she’s got a name for me! Say it again, sweet girl! Stilinski!”

“Linky!” she says with a giggle.

“Bring her home right now so I can hug the life out of that adorable munchkin!” Stiles demands.  “You are getting the biggest birthday present ever, Eloise!”

“Linky, linky, linky, linky,” she replies, now turning the name into a little singsong that makes Isaac laugh softly.  

_I have the cutest fucking kid in the world._

The sound of the doorbell on the other end of the line interrupts the moment, and Isaac’s mood sours at the thought of Erica waiting for Stiles to answer.  He forces himself to hold in an annoyed sigh.

“Better get that,” Stiles says.  “See you when you get home.”

“See ya.”

Isaac waits for the click to indicate that Stiles has ended the call, but instead he hears the loud thud and sound of Stiles footsteps retreating.

_He set the phone down but he didn’t hang it up?_

“Stiles!” Isaac says loudly into the phone on the off-chance that he’ll be heard.  “Stiles?!”

He’s about to just hang up on his own instead when an all-too-familiar voice comes faintly over the line.

“No, I’m here to--uh--talk to you actually.”

Derek?! What the actual fuck?!

“Me? Why?”

“Because Isaac’s too fucking stubborn to listen to me, and I’m hoping maybe you will.”

_Derek, what the hell are you doing? Get the hell out of my house. Stop talking to Stiles. Mind your own fucking business!_

Isaac sidetracks into the parking lot of a dentist office, parking haphazardly and putting his full attention to making out the conversation on the other end of the line.  He’s got a sick feeling in his gut that he doesn’t really want to know what they have to say, but nevertheless he can’t bring himself to end the call.

“Is something wrong? Is he okay?” Stiles asks, genuine concern in his voice that Isaac can’t help but love however much it makes him ache; for all his claims of independence, Isaac still enjoys having someone fret over him like Stiles does half the time; Stiles is the first person to bother in a long fucking time.

“Neither of you are okay,” Derek replies.  “You’re both miserable because you’re not together and you’re trying to get by with other options but you’re just delaying the inevitable.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m with Erica, not that it’s any of your business, and--”

“You are not and I know it.  Know how?”

“How?”

“Because she and I had a couple drinks last night and I got introduced to the guy she’s actually dating.”

“That’s--she’s--we’re--”

“You’re friends, really good friends, and she hates that you and Isaac are being such fucking lovesick idiots.”

“What the fuck gives you the right to come into my fucking house and--”

“It’s not your house; it’s Isaac’s!” Derek retorts.  “And he grew up in hell here but he moved back in for that goddamned kid--”

“Don’t you dare talk about Eloise like that you--” Stiles retorts, and Isaac feels his throat swell up in an effort to stave off tears. Derek continues over the protests, more determined than Isaac’s ever heard him.

“And I thought it’d be good for him when you jumped on board the baby train and offered to help out and did fucking everything to set you two up for the most sickeningly sweet happily ever after any cheesy ass screenplay could ever hope to mimic! I thought you were gonna help him!”

“That’s my job? What about you? You’ve known him longer; you’re sleeping with him; you--”

“You know damn well we’re not good for each other.  It’s not lasting and healthy and all that bullshit you’re supposed to want out of life.  We’re just the same brand of fucked up, so we get along okay.  You could give him a good, legitimate, happy storybook fucking life, Stiles.   And you could fix him, ya know? You can help make him better, and yeah maybe I’m not the most supportive friend or the best fucking influence but I do at least care that Isaac eventually gets to be happy because he fucking deserves it after all the hell he’s been through, okay? But you two have your heads up your asses, and you’re being stubborn, blind, idiots about everything and I’m tired of watching Isaac pass up the best thing that’s maybe ever gonna come his way because he’s so scared to lose what he’s got that he won’t try for more.”

Isaac feels like he’s going to puke.  Nevermind that Derek Hale of all people pities him, the words are so completely true and everything that Isaac wants to blurt to Stiles all the time that it just--hurts; like a sucker punch to the gut or a slap to the face.  He grits his teeth and keeps listening to the silence, mentally cursing Derek’s outburst and terrified of what Stiles’ reply will be.

“Isaac doesn’t want more; I don’t want more,” Stiles replies simply.  “You’re wrong.”

“Like hell I’m wrong.  You know damn well--”

“We fooled around a grand total of one time,” Stiles interrupts angrily, “not that it’s any of your fucking business at all, and it was nothing but a colossal drunken mistake that nearly fucked up everything so we agreed to forget it.  You’ve said what you came to say; now get the hell out of this house and mind your own goddamn business, Derek!” he thunders.  

“Be pissed all you want but you know I’m right,” Derek answers, unwavering.  

“Get out!” Stiles persists.

Derek mutters something that Isaac can’t quite make out, but the general tone is of another insult.  The sound of a slamming door makes Isaac jump, and he ends the call before risking that Stiles could pick up the phone again and realize the conversation was overheard.  

Stiles’ words replay in his head on a loop: _it was nothing but a colossal drunken mistake...it was nothing but a colossal drunken mistake...it was nothing but a colossal drunken mistake…_

He slams his hand against the steering wheel, desperate to alleviate the frustration and humiliation welling up inside of him.  But Ellie’s with him, in the back seat, with much too somber an expression on her little face for Isaac to let himself lose his shit right now.  So he turns the kiddie music back up, puts the car in drive, and starts back on the trip toward dinner.

_It was nothing but a colossal drunken mistake…_

_But we got past it, Isaac reminds himself. We’re mostly okay; Stiles didn’t leave; the whole situation is fucked up, but we’ll figure it all out.  I just gotta forget I ever heard that conversation before it drives me crazy._

_What did he mean about Erica? Was it true? Stiles didn’t really put up a great argument against it…_

_Even if it’s true, it just means he’s so desperate to move past New Years and me and all that to live a fucking lie so he can be sure he doesn’t get stuck with just me._

_I just need to forget I heard anything; I need to forget New Year’s; I need to forget all of it._

_Maybe Stiles could fix me a little bit, but it’s not his fucking responsibility.  Derek should never have talked to him; he should’ve just kept his damn mouth shut and left well enough alone._

 

 

*****************************************

 

Try as he might, Isaac can’t force the conversation between Derek and Stiles out of his head.  It’s been haunting him for almost a week by the time St. Patrick’s Day rolls around.  There’s a charity carnival sponsored by the Sheriff’s department to celebrate, and Stiles has talked non-stop for days about how ready he is to take Ellie and show her off.

“Hey, grumpy gills, you sure you don’t want to come?” Stiles wonders to Isaac as he picks Eloise up from the playpen and slings the diaper bag over his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Isaac replies.  

“The carnival’s going to be fun; are you sure?”

“Crowds aren’t really my thing,” Isaac answers.  

“You’ve been in a bad mood all week; maybe this’ll get that stick out of your--”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, okay.  I’ll take pictures of her at the little games and stuff.  Scott invited us over after for the kids to play while the adults have a couple beers--maybe play cards or something.  You could come over for that if you want.”

 _No, I do not want to come to the carnival or to Scott’s and deal with you and all your friends and the general awesomeness of all of your lives and try to mask the fact that I know you’re all just putting up with me out of pity and that I’m so pathetically lovesick over you it can practically be seen from space but you just think we’d be a disaster together_ , Isaac thinks bitterly.

“Maybe,” he says aloud, to avoid further argument.  “Have fun.”

“You too,” Stiles replies.  “Relax, okay? Or whatever you need to do to get out of whatever funk you’ve been wallowing in.”

“I’m not wallowing, Stiles; I’m fine.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure,” he replies, rolling his eyes.  “See ya later.”

 

***********************************************************************

 

Stiles and Ellie have been gone for half an hour, but Isaac hasn’t moved a muscle since they left.  When he finally does, he pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts to Derek’s name and letting his finger hover over it for the millionth time since he overheard Derek’s conversation with Stiles.

Isaac hates himself more than a little for finally pressing the contact and watching the text pop up to inform him that he’s calling Derek.

“Yeah?” Derek answers.

“House to myself for a while,” Isaac replies.  “You wanna--”

“Got plans,” Derek interrupts.  “Sorry.”

“No big deal. Catch you next time maybe.”

“Not so sure there should be a next time, Isaac.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Look, we used to work, but you’re--we’re headed in different directions.  I don’t know what you need, but whatever it is, it’s not me.”

“Okay. Fine,” Isaac replies, biting back the urge to beg Derek to reconsider. Maybe Derek's finally sick of putting up with his shitty skills in bed.

“He’ll be good for you,” Derek replies.

Isaac fights the urge to curl in on himself. What the hell did he do to deserve this? his fuck buddy breaking up with him and sounding like a therapist? How pathetic.

“I don’t love Stiles,” Isaac lies.

“Maybe not, but whoever else you pick; they’ll be good for you--better than this bullshit we’ve been getting by on.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Bye, Isaac.”

Isaac doesn’t reply, he just jams the call end button with his thumb and hurls the phone at the wall opposite him; there’s a nice sense of satisfaction that accompanies the shattering of the plastic.  It’s short-lived, but still worth it on some levels.

_Fuck you, Derek; acting like you’ve got it all figured out and know what’s best for me.  I’ve got my life together more than you’ve ever managed.  What the hell do you know anyway?_

But the clock ticks by and the fact still stands that Isaac just got dumped by a fuck buddy.

_So not only was the slightest idea that Stiles and I could be something a ‘colossal drunken mistake’ but now Derek thinks I’m too pathetic to even fuck around with._

_Great. Awesome. Fan-fucking-tastic._

_Add ‘stable, half-normal family’ to the list of things I’m never going to be able to give Eloise._

And then the small voice in the back of his mind that Isaac loathes with every fiber of his being points out: _Dad was right about you; the only thing you’re good at is fucking things up…_

 

*********************************************************************

 

Isaac isn’t entirely sure how he went from having one, small glass of whiskey on the rocks to waking up blearily on the living room couch.  Someone’s shaking him roughly and Isaac shies back automatically, one hand up to shield his face.  In the next moment he realizes it’s just Stiles who’s shaking and screaming at him.

“Isaac, what the fuck happened? Did you do all this? Are you okay?!”

_Not really sure. But I think the answer is 'no.'_

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, a bit of a cliffhanger, but ch. 11 is already in the works if that's any consolation :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the time between updates these days; thank y'all for being patient!

Stiles’ first thought when he walks in is that they’ve been robbed.

Everything in sight is wrecked--the glass top on the coffee table is in a million peices, picture frames thrown to every corner of the room, everything thrown from the bookshelf cases.  Stiles’ heart leaps to his throat as one horrible realization dawns:

_Isaac’s home. His car’s in the driveway. He’s home._

He screams Isaac’s name, clutching Eloise close to his chest with one arm as he frantically dials 9-1-1 with his cell.  When he rounds the corner into the kitchen the terror ebbs a moment only to be replaced by a sick sense of foreboding.  There’s a shattered glass on the kitchen floor, but it’s the empty bottle of Evan Williams on the counter that has Stiles thinking maybe he jumped to conclusions.  He pockets his phone as he continues his search for Isaac by following the sound of running water coming from the guest bathroom.  Ellie’s picked up on his stress, fretting and whining in Stiles’ arms as he holds her tight; maybe he should’ve put her down, but he can’t let her out of his sight until he figures out what the hell is going on.

He rounds the corner into the bathroom to find Isaac sitting unconscious on the floor in front of the sink, leaning back against the counter with his head lolling to one side.  There’s a blood-stained towel wrapped haphazardly around one one his hands; the knuckles of the other are bloodied, too.  Stiles drops to his knees in front of Isaac, shaking his shoulder roughly with his free hand as he demands:

“Isaac, what the fuck happened? Did you do all this? Are you okay?!”

“Wha?” Isaac slurs back, hands coming up to shield himself before he gets his eyes open enough to see who’s shaking him; he stares back at Stiles with glazed eyes.  

“Did you just get drunk? Did something happen? Did someone come in? What’s going on?”

“‘m fine,” Isaac answers.

“So no one else then? This was all you?”  Isaac mutters something in reply that isn’t even remotely understandable.  “Dammit, Isaac; what the hell is wrong with you?” Stiles curses.

He turns off the faucet and leaves to put Ellie in her playpen.  She fusses, clearly not a fan of being neglected after the bit of excitement on arriving home, but a little shushing and her pacifier and she’s tuckered out enough from the carnival excitement to start dozing off.  

 _Time to take care of the other baby I guess,_ Stiles thinks bitterly as he head back to the bathroom.

Isaac’s eyes have drooped shut again, and Stiles wakes him with a shake.  Like before, Isaac draws his hands up to shield himself, shying away from the touch.  Now that the panic has abated a bit, Stiles recognizes the movement for what it is: the natural reaction to contact that comes from years of abuse.  His anger wanes just a little at the realization.  

_What happened tonight? What set you off, Isaac? What’s wrong?_

“It’s just me; you’re okay,” he assures, and Isaac’s battered hands flop back down to his sides.  

“Stiles?” Isaac says, looking at him as though he doesn’t recall Stiles’ apparence five minutes before.  “Oh.”

“Isaac, why’d you do all this?”

“Just needed a drink,” Isaac murmurs back, “ ‘s notta big deal.”

“Think you had more than one.”

“Nuh-uh, jus’ a quick drink,” Isaac counters.  

“Sure, sure,” Stiles replies with a sigh.  “Can you get up if I help you? You should get to bed.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles bears most of Isaac’s weight as they start the slow, staggering journey to Isaac’s bedroom.  

“Messed up your hands pretty good,” Stiles comments.  “You don’t need a doctor, do you?”

“Had worse.”

“I can drive you to the ER if--”

“No, no ERs,” Isaac snaps, his most lucid statement yet, and Stiles can only imagine the many bad memories that the suggestion must’ve brought to the surface. “I don’ needa doctor.”

“Okay,” Stiles concedes.  “We’ll reassess in the morning,” he adds.

He doesn’t want to take Isaac anywhere while he’s drunk off his ass, but there’s a solid chance he might’ve broken something or gotten glass in his hands while wrecking things downstairs.  

“‘m fine,” Isaac answers. “Just tired.”

“Well, lucky for you, we’re here,” Stiles replies, as they cross the threshold into Isaac’s room.  

“Hey,” Isaac says suddenly.  “Eloise. Where’s she--you--you had her and--”

“She’s fine; she’s sleeping in her playpen.   I’ll put her to bed.  Don’t worry.”

“Why’re you so good to us?” Isaac wonders.

Stiles laughs to diffuse the sincerity in the slurred sentence.  

“You’re just lucky Ellie’s such a cute kid,” Stiles jokes.

“You’re better for ‘er th’n me.”

“Don’t say that, Isaac.  You can’t think that.”

“‘S’true,” Isaac persists sullenly as he sinks back onto his bed, curling up on his side, cradling his injured hands against his chest.   “Dad’s righ’ ‘bout me.”

“Isaac, you are a _great_ uncle.  You’re not--I’m just--I’m helping out a little, but _you’re_ the one who dropped everything to look after her.  Don’t sell yourself short, okay? Because this is some _tough_ shit to handle, so whatever set you off today, you can figure it out.  You’re allowed a meltdown now and again, but we gotta find a way that doesn’t fuck up the house quite as much, okay?” he adds with another huff of laughter to combat the tension.

The only response to Stiles’ words is the deep, steady breathing that signals Isaac has already fallen back asleep.

 

****************

 

            “Morning, Sunshine,” Stiles greets with a forced smile when Isaac walks into the kitchen the next morning.   “Breakfast?”

            “Just gonna make some toast,” Isaac answers blearily, “‘n’ coffee.”

            “I made coffee,” Stiles offers.

            “Black,” Isaac tells him as he reaches for the bread.

            “How’re the hands?” Stiles wonders.  “Looked like you--”

            “I’m fine.”

            “You’re not fine.  You might have glass in there or broken--”

            “I’m _fine,_ ” Isaac persists as he all but shoves two pieces of bread into the toaster.

            “Tell that to the living room furniture,” Stiles mutters.

            “I’ll clean it up.”

            _Good, ‘cause I’m not,_ Stiles thinks, annoyed at the tone of this conversation; he wanted this to _help_ with whatever is eating at Isaac, not get him worked up again.

            “I’m not worried about the damn coffee table; I’m worried about _you_!” Stiles bursts out. “I want to help, Isaac! I’m trying to--”

            “I don’t need you to save me, dammit!” Isaac retorts.  “Leave it alone, Stiles! I just wanted a couple drinks while I had the house to myself; I got a little clumsy and--”

            “You weren’t clumsy; you were fighting every inanimate object within reach.”

            “So I had one drink too many; it won’t happen again; thanks for getting me and Eloise to bed. Now drop it.”

            “What happened, Isaac? Did you fight with Derek? Or something at work? What?”

            “Nothing’s wrong.”

            “Did _I_ do something?”

            “No, Stiles, you’re fucking perfect; wipe that worried look off your face,” Isaac snaps.  

            “I’m not perfect,” Stiles counters.  “And I’m not better for Eloise than you,” he adds, taking the plunge into the territory of last night’s drunken lamentations.

            “What did you say?” Isaac demands, but the crack in his voice betrays his panic at Stiles’ words.

            “Last night, when I was helping you to bed you--”

            “I don’t fucking remember that; whatever I said was--”

            “More honest than any other conversations we ever have?” Stiles interjects bitterly.   “Come on, Isaac.  New Years got everything all fucked up between us.  Then Valentine’s was just--kind of to the extreme again and now _this_? Something’s eating at you, and you won’t talk about it, but I think it’s something to do with the stuff you were saying last night and--”

            “Let it go, Stiles,” Isaac commands.  “You don’t know what the hell you’re even talking about, and I don’t really want to do the whole’ sharing is caring’ routine, okay? I feel like shit; my head hurts; I need to be at work in a few hours.  Just stop.”

            “You’re the best guardian Ellie could ask for,” Stiles persists.  

Isaac lets out a huff of bitter laughter at the statement.  

“Sure I am,” he mutters.  

“I’m serious, Isaac.  The stuff you were saying last night just--don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Isaac says, placating.

“I mean it.”

“I heard you,” Isaac replies, moving to leave the kitchen with his meager breakfast.

“Hey,” Stiles says sharply, moving to block Isaac’s path.  “Look at me.”

Isaac sighs, like it’s a horrible expenditure to effort to look Stiles in the face and demand, _“What_?”

“Remember all the stuff you said to me after that first night I was gone with Erica--about not being able to handle losing me?     

            “What about it?” Isaac wonders, eyes narrowing like he’s waiting for the sucker punch in the words.

            “Goes both ways, dude,” Stiles says earnestly.  “I don’t wanna lose you either.”

            “Not going anywhere, Stiles,” Isaac says with a roll of his eyes.  “Don’t worry so much,” he adds, pushing past Stiles and out of the kitchen.

 

           

 

***************

 

            It’s a week until Eloise’s birthday. Both Isaac and Stiles are willing to admit that Lydia is much more suited to plan a picture-perfect first birthday than anyone else they know.  Stiles offers to set up some time with her, and then tries not to dread the idea of being stuck at a table with Isaac, planning a the birthday of a child Stiles _aches_ to raise with him.  Stiles still can’t get a read on where he stands with Isaac--are they mutually lovesick like so many of their friends seem to think? Is isaac just so scared to be alone that he doesn’t care _who_ helps out as long as it’s _someone_? Is he tired of Stiles’ involvement and ready to do this on his own?

The uncertainty is a constant worry swirling in the back of Stiles’ mind, but, for now, he focuses on the task at hand, grateful he’s got a team to be part of, one headed by Lydia’s flair for over-planning if the giant binder she’s pulling from her bag is any indicator.  Isaac sits across the table from Stiles--the first time they’ve sat here together in weeks--maybe even months now?--and wishes for the millionth time that they could somehow return to where they were before New Year’s.

            “Okay,” Lydia says, pulling Stiles from his thoughts as she plops the notebook down on the kitchen table in front of her.  “Let’s get started.”  

            Stiles knew Ellie’s first birthday would be a big deal, but he was unaware that this was an event apparently more important that the first moon landing. He’s learned that letting Lydia have her fun usually ends up being pretty great, regardless of how much overkill she may put into a project.  She’s the reason this house looks loved and stylish and homey instead of the dull, dreary disaster of a bachelor pad.

            “So I was thinking we go with either Butterfly themed or Teddy Bear Picnic.  Preference?”

            “Teddy Bear Picnic” Isaac says just as Stiles votes, “Butterfly"

            _Great. Disagreeing within the first five seconds; just what we need._

            “Okay, well, you boys rock paper scissor or something to--”

            “I’m the one paying for it,” Isaac asserts.  “Teddy Bear Picnic”

            “I’m _helping_ ,” Stiles reminds.  “This hasn’t been a one-man show for a long time.  Don’t be a control freak,” he chastises

            “I’m not being a control freak; I just think that teddy bears suit Ellie better.”

            “Well, I _don’t,_ ” Stiles says, unwavering. “Her favorite animal on the playmat is the _butterfly._ ”

            “Stop acting like five-year-olds,” Lydia commands sharply.  “Isaac picks the theme.  Stiles can pick the cake flavor and El’s outfit?”

            “That’s not--” Isaac begins to protest.

            “It’s totally fair,” Stiles interjects.  “If anything you’re still getting the better end of it.  Stop whining.”

            “I am not _whining_.”

            “You two are ridiculous,” Lydia informs with a sigh of exasperation as she rubs at her temples like she’s getting a migraine.  “This has _got_ to stop.”

            “You just make all the decisions then,” Stiles huffs.  “You’re going to make most of them anyway, right?”

            “I’d like to at least give you the illusion of control,” she says with an overly sweet smile.   “I didn’t realize it would take a small miracle to get you two to have _one_ conversation without the incessant bickering that’s ushered in the New Year and the whole fucking Spring too.”

            “We do not bicker _incessantly_ ,” Stiles protests.  “We just--ya know--it’s that we spend too much time together.”

            “You’ve been avoiding each other and purposely planning schedules so that you’re not home together whenever possible,” Lydia replies.  “For _months_ ,” she adds pointedly.

            “It’s the most logical thing,” Stiles persists.

            “It’s really creepy that you know shit like that,” Isaac adds darkly.  “It’s none of your business anyway.”

            “It is if this keeps up because by the time we hit Independence Day you two will be starting World War III.”

            “Don’t exaggerate; we’re fine,” Isaac answers dismissively.  “Roommates always end up getting on each other’s nerves. “

            Stiles isn’t entirely sure why the word ‘roommate’ feels like a knife to the chest, but it does.  Maybe they’re not _together_ or anything, but he and Isaac are still more than just roommates.

            _Aren’t we?_

            “Whatever you have to tell yourself to get through the day,” Lydia says with a shrug, flipping her hair, “when you’re tired of pretending you don’t belong together in a love story fit for a made-for-TV movie, let me know.  I call dibbs on engagement party planning.”

            “Lydia!” Stiles growls, unprepared for the anger that boils in his blood at her careless flaunting of a future Stiles wants so badly he can barely stand it, acting as though it would be the easiest happily ever after in the world and not utterly impossible after Stiles idiotic, drunken display on New Year’s.  “That’s not fucking funny.”

            “I’m not laughing, Stiles,” she replies coolly.  “One of these days you two--”

            “Can we talk about the fucking party?” Isaac demands snatching at the binder underneath Lydia’s fingers and dragging it over to start flipping pages; he seems just as incensed as Stiles feels.

            “Fine, fine,” Lydia says, holding up her hands in show of surrender.  “Party for the princess takes the priority,” she concedes, “but that still doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” she adds firmly.

 

****************************************

 

            It’s two days until the party when Stiles opens the brown box from Amazon that was left on the porch.  He’s expecting another round of party supplies, but to his surprise he’s staring at a book and a CD-ROM that promises to make passing the EMT certification exam “a breeze”.  He checks the address on the box again, and it’s Isaac’s name and the right address.

            _Mistake? Or did he order this on purpose?_ Stiles wonders.   _Is he thinking about EMT certification? That’s a really big deal._

He decides to play it cool when Isaac gets home, just in case it is some kind of mixed up delivery situation and Isaac’s got no intention of changing careers.  

            _Wonder what got him thinking about it? It doesn’t seem like he hates his job now.  Why’d he want to switch?_

By the time Isaac gets home, Stiles is practically bursting with the need to pry into this potential development in their--well, just Isaac’s technically--life.  He decides to just jump right into the discussion rather than cooping up his questions any longer.

            “Um--so--I totally don’t want you to think I was prying into your shit,” Stiles says, words spilling out far too quickly.  “So don’t be pissed.”

            “What the hell are you even talking about?” Isaac wonders.  
            “I opened your mail--well, not like a letter; it was a package. I thought it was supplies for the party.  You know more of the stuff Lydia ordered, but it was your prep course thing,” Stiles admits.

            “Oh--it--uh--I’d kind of forgotten about it,” Isaac says, stammering a bit, small flush rising up in his cheeks.

            _You really are thinking about it, but you didn’t want anyone to know. Why not? Why wouldn’t you share it? It’s awesome!_

Isaac’s saved from the momentary lull in conversation as Ellie demands, “Iyaac, up!” calling him to come and save her from the playpen.

“I ordered the stupid thing like three weeks ago--kind of on a whim,” Isaac says dismissively as he crosses the room to Ellie.

“That’s kind of random.  Any particular reason?” Stiles wonders, trying desperately to seem nonchalant and not overly invasive which would have Isaac shutting down in two seconds flat.

“Well, this guy who used to work for the funeral home, Emmet; he talked about getting on with a local ambulance service for years, but he finally did last summer.”

“Oh, so you’ve been thinking for a while then.”

“No,” Isaac counters, sounding a bit defensive.  “I just--I mean I got to thinking that I can’t do this job forever, not with Ellie.  Weird ass hours and dead people and stuff.”

            “There’s nothing to be ashamed of about your job,” Stiles replies.

            _I mean yes there are creepy aspects to it, but you’re providing for your kid.  That’s the important thing._

            “I didn’t say I was ashamed of it,” Isaac counters sharply.

            “Sure _sounds_ like---” Stiles stops mid-sentence, squinting at Isaac as he connects events together in his mind.  “Three weeks ago,” he says.

            “Yeah. So what?”

            “My Dad _loves_ doing career day at the school,” Stiles replies.  “He talked about it all night when we were over for dinner.”

            _And the entire fucking week before that.  About if he had enough badge stickers and how they really needed to get something cooler than pencils to hand out and that he needed to clean out the squad car in case the kids wanted to see it._

            “Did he?” Isaac asks, trying a little too hard for the innocent look for Stiles to buy the act completely.  “I didn’t really notice.”

            “ _And_ you pass the Elementary school everyday on your way to work,” Stiles pushes.  “Bet they had it on the sign out front didn’t they?”

            “None of that’s got anything to do with me ordering a prep course,” Isaac says firmly.

            “No?”

            “No.”

            “Eloise’ll be proud of you no matter what you do,” Stiles says.

            “I don’t need you to tell me that my kid loves me,” Isaac retorts.  “I’m fucking aware of it, thanks.”

            “Okay, okay, fine,” Stiles says.  

            “It’s just an idea anyway,” Isaac points out. “A whim, like I said.”

            “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you could be a really great EMT.  We both know grave digging is a honest living and all, but you’re too smart to stay there your whole life.”

            “I don’t even know if I’m gonna bother taking the test. It’d be a lot of trouble. It’s expensive.  There are a lot of things to consider.”

            “I hope you do.”

            Isaac freezes at the words, eyes coming up to meet Stiles’ for the first time since the topic was breached.  He doesn’t immediately speak, just studies Stiles’ face for a minute or two, like he’s trying to figure out if Stiles is just messing with him.

            “Thanks,” Isaac says finally.

            “You’re smart enough to pass the test,” Stiles goes on, taking the occasion to boost Isaac up a bit from the glum moods he tends to fall into these days.  “Plus we’ve got the life insurance money from Cam’s policy to buffer for now, but in a few years, we’ll have less to go on; I mean it’s not like my starting salary as a cop will be--” Stiles chokes off his sentence, horrified at the way his mouth is running away with him.  “Not that--I mean like--if you’re still cool with me living here and all as things go on then, I’d--ya know-- help out,” he clarifies, rambling.  “I’m not like, planning a joint checking account or something.”

            “Right,” Isaac says with a look clearly conveying his worry for Stiles’ sanity, but he’s smiling, as he rolls his eyes at Stiles; Stiles chooses to take it as a good general sign.  “So what’s for dinner?” he wonders, pointedly changing the subject.  “You got something planned or should I call out for pizza?”

 

*******************************

 

            There’s something about parties, especially Lydia’s, that seem to take on a life of their own. Ellie’s first birthday party isn’t any different, and Stiles is loving every second of it.

“Lyds, where are the second tray of the raspberry sandwiches? We’re almost out,” Stiles inquires as he exits the dining room, returning from her mandated sweep of refreshments. She’s in top form today, hair perfectly in place over a dark blue and red plaid shirt, dark designer jeans calling the attention of every single male in the room.

            She turns from her wicker basket at the front of the door filled with fuzzy bear ears, hands on her hips.

            “Stiles, I swear you were there this morning when Isaac was putting them away, ask him. I’m busy.”

            She’s been trying and failing to get them to talk to each other the entire party, to no avail. Stiles stares at the back of her head, doing his best to silently communicate just how stressful she’s made the whole damn thing.

            He stalks back from the front door, passing through the fake forrest he was tasked with constructing, slowly acquiring at least fifty potted indoor plants and trees through craigslist and generous neighbors to create the forest part of Ellie’s Teddy Bear Picnic. Despite initial misgivings, it’s turning out to be fucking adorable. Three of the younger neighborhood kids rush in front of him growling like bears on their way back to the food in the dining area, and Stiles grabs for his camera to catch them as they round the stairs, the small forest in amongst the lamps and accent tables making for a great scene.

            Just touching the camera makes him think of Isaac, and not for the first time today his eyes wander over to the side of the room where he’s in deep conversation with Boyd, the guy about thier age who just moved in down the street, taking care of an elderly aunt.  He’s quiet but kind, a bit closed off, but it seems to suit Boyd to Isaac’s company.  Stiles has been glad to see a friendship beginning between them.  

            _God knows Isaac could use a friend that’s not Derek. Well, not that Derek is completely terrible…_

Unbidden images of Isaac on the morning after Valentine’s Day flash through his mind, and he lets the camera drop, realizing that it’s probably pretty fucking obvious that he’s staring at them through a massive lens from the other side of the room.  He glances around, grateful that no one seems to have noticed his creeper impersonation moment.  Most of the people here are engaged in various conversations of enjoying the awesome refreshments Lydia got together.  

            All the neighbors and several deputies from the Sheriff’s department are here.  The house is comfortably full, and Stiles can’t help but think what a difference it makes to the house, having it filled with a happy kind of chaos.  

_We should have people over more often.  Maybe cook out some this summer.  It could be really awesome._

“Stiles, right?” she says.  “You’re _the_ Stiles, right?”

            “I’m not sure if I should own up to it after that kind of identification, but yes.”

            She smiles, her light green vest shifting lightly as she moves her mason jar of lemonade to her left hand reaching out to shake Stiles’. His hand gets caught in the strap of his camera, but only long enough to be embarrassing for the two of them and not any of the other small conversations around them.

He’s stopped by one of the newer additions to Beacon Hill’s Finest as he treks back to the kitchen. She’s beautiful, and under normal circumstances Stiles wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away, but he drops her gaze almost immediately, despite her dazzling smile.  He lets his fingers idly trace over the shutter button of his Nikon, realizing yet again that he’s still helplessly and hopelessly taken.

_By a guy who’d rather be with the likes of Derek Hale than a dorky, drunk college doof._

            “I’m Malia, nice to finally put a face to the many stories.”

            “It’s nice to meet you Malia, but I was kind of--”

            “Oh I know you’re taken, not trying to make a move,” she says with an exaggerated wink, looking over to the other side of the room where Isaac sits before focusing her intense gaze back on him.

            “Oh, we’re not--”

            “Detective,” she interjects, pointing at herself.  “Remember? I might be new on the force, but I’m not blind.”

            “It’s really--it’s--”

            “Complicated?” she supposes.

            “Uh-huh,” Stiles agrees, not sure he really wants to have this discussion in the middle of El’s party with a girl who’s practically a stranger.

            _Of course, that’s how I ended up friends with Erica…_

“Complicated or not, you’re still taken,” she says simply, and Stiles can’t say she’s wrong.  “I didn’t mean to Dr. Phil you,” she apologizes, “I just wanted to tell you how precious your family is,” she explains,  pointing out the sheriff sitting on the couch with Melissa; Ellie’s standing on his legs as he holds her torso lightly. “I really can’t tell you how happy that little girl makes him. Won’t shut up about his little Ellie. We were all in love with her before we met her.”

            Stiles nods absently, caught up in watching his father. He hasn’t seen him this happy or relaxed in years. A fight between two of the neighbor kids over a pair of bear ears distracts Ellie, the loud noise making her wail, and before Stiles can even think, Isaac is there at Dad’s side, swooping her into the air, her cry turned into a laugh as he tosses her into the air and catches her.  

            “Didn’t mean to steal her,” Isaac says to Dad.  “Sorry, just--”

            “Being a good uncle,” Dad replies with a smile, the pride in his voice is unmistakable as he teases, “I guess I can let you take over; it’s your day as much as hers after all.”

            Isaac shrugs off the comment and the implied compliment in the words.  

            “Come on, Melissa; let’s grab some grub,” Dad suggests, rising from the couch.

Isaac turns away with Ellie, hugging her to his chest as he returns to finish his conversation with Boyd.  Stiles is sure that he’s supposed to feel all warm and serene and happy, but it feels like he’s choking, watching the happiness Ellie can bring Isaac. It’s literally the dumbest thing to be jealous of a one year old, but Stiles is so fucking tired of the constant struggle being with Isaac has become these past months; it’s exhausting and discouraging and infuriating.

            “I’m lucky to have them,” he says, speaking to himself as much as to Malia.

            Malia starts to say something else but he walks away, determined to get to the kitchen and as far as possible from all the hallmark card perfection in the livingroom. He’ll apologize later.

            He’s been arranging and rearranging the napkins for at least twenty minutes while benignly smiling and chatting with guests as they stop by to get more of the flower and butterfly shaped sandwiches or refill their drinks, but he doesn’t pay much attention until Lydia snaps in front of him, pulling him out of his self-indulgent pity party.

            “Where’s your not-boyfriend?” she demands. “It’s about time for the candles, and I can’t find him.”

She looks down to her phone, scrolling through her estimated schedule for the party. Only she could make a timetable for a one year old’s birthday party.

            “Why the hell should I know?” He sets the napkins back, the dark blue and dark red perfectly complimenting Lydia’s shirt and all the other decorations, from the streamers twisted in a canopy over the ceiling to the paper straws in all of the drinks.  “You just said it yourself, he’s not my boyfriend.”

            “I sent him to find a different tablecloth for the picnic part of the party. Red checked is traditional, but when we sat Ellie down on it I realized it clashes with the dress _you_ picked out. I spent too much money on that dress to spend the next however many years regretting my choice of background colors.”

            “Well, where did he go?” Stiles huffs, annoyed.

            “He said something about his mother possibly having something ‘down there’. You should expand his vocabulary.”

            “Expand his vocabular-” and then it hits him like a brick wall, like shattered glass on white kitchen tile.

            _The basement._

 

******************************************************

 

He finds Isaac sitting amongst the many boxes in the basement, beneath the harsh glow of the exposed lightbulb dangling from the ceiling.  His head is pressed firmly into the support beam next to where he sank down, the rest of him loosely curled to the side of it, and Stiles’ immediate instinct to grab and touch is quelled only by the fact that Isaac isn’t responding to anything, not the sounds of the party from the open door above, not Stiles’ own creaking footsteps down the stairs or appearance here in Isaac’s personal level of hell.

_Shit shit shit. It’s not like I can haul him up the stairs like this.  Not to a party full of people. That won’t help; it’ll just scare him or piss him off or embarrass him and most definite not help anything._

Stiles’ mind is running a mile a minute, and he can’t focus on his thoughts or his movements until he finds himself two stairs below Isaac, trying to pry Isaac’s hands away from the collar of his shirt where he’s got a death grip on the collar like he’s longing to rip open the buttons running down the front.

The only thought Stiles can scrape together when he finds Isaac is that he’s wearing Stiles’ shirt.

_I was so happy when Lydia demanded he go change to fit the theme. I didn’t even care that she went through my closet. I was just way too happy to see her force him into one of my flannels._

He pulls his panicked mind to the matter at hand: helping Isaac.  

_Should I try to be funny? Should I try shake him out of this? I don’t know how to help. Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

“Stiles.”

Isaac’s voice is barely above a whisper, his knuckles turning white as he pulls the shirt forward farther, the back cutting into his neck.

“Yeah, buddy. It’s me.”

He punctuates it with a small shake of his hands covering Isaac’s, trying to get Isaac to look at him.  Isaac’s head snaps up, his eyes panicked, and he grabs onto Stiles’ hands and why _now,_ in the middle of this very serious situation, does Stiles have to lose control of his heart? This is no loving caress, no move of casual comfort.  It’s the desperate grip of a drowning man.

“ _I can’t breathe.”_

Stiles is nodding because yes, Stiles can clearly see that Isaac is having a panic attack, he totally agrees. They stare at each other for the longest few seconds Stiles has ever lived through before his attention is called back to reality by Lydia’s voice echoing down the concrete walls of the basement.

“Stiles?!” Lydia calls, and Sitles panics, realizing their predicament.

_No one else can see Isaac like this. I told him. I promised him that no one else would know._

“Stiles, I swear to god if you two went down there to hook up in the middle of--”

“Still looking,” Stiles calls back quickly.  “Up in second,” he adds.

“You better be!” she says threateningly.

The sound of her heels clicking fades as she retreats, and Stiles breathes a sigh of momentary relief..  

Isaac’s still got an iron grip on Stiles hands at his collar; it’s is almost unmaneuverable, and Stiles struggles to rethread their fingers into a more comfortable grasp. As he goes, he can see a little bit more of Isaac’s awareness return to him, at least enough to get him to really _see_ Stiles again.

“Stiles? What?” he wonders blankly.

“Hey, hey, welcome back Isaac. What’re you doing, dude?”

Stiles has seen his father talk to trauma victims. Slow. Confident. He can be that for Isaac. He can do that. Isaac lets their hands drop into his lap and he stares at them for a second, his gaze lifting back to Stiles.

“El.”

“Isaac, El isn’t down here.”

“No, El needed something.”

“Did Lydia ask you to go find something?” Stiles asks, though he knows the answer; he’s just trying to keep the conversation going, maybe see if Isaac will tell him what hte hell happened to leave him like this.

_Just being in the basement again? Something else? What?_

Isaac nods and casts his eyes around, finally settling on the neat stack of vintage printed table cloths to his left, somewhat surprised by their presence. Stiles hadn’t noticed them either in his own panic.

“I think El needed them.” Isaac says, but his voice Stiles sounds like he’s a million miles away from here, not really engaging in the world yet.  

If there weren’t upwards of fifty people upstairs, Stiles would probably try to wring some details out of Isaac, fill in some of the gaps in the mysterious story of the making of Isaac Lahey’s damaged psyche. But one more glance at Isaac’s confused face, his small and innocent posture pushes Stiles past his curiosity.

“You can stand up, right Isaac? Keep holding my hand and stand up?”

He nods as Stiles pulls him up, guided as easily as El would have been.

“And you’re gonna keep holding it until we get back out there, ok?” Stiles bends to scoop up the tablecloths, holding them to his chest, pulling Isaac behind him, Isaac’s grip slipping from his sweaty fingers.  “And once you’re upstairs it’ll be easier to breathe, okay? I promise,” Stiles says, hoping it isn’t a lie, hoping that Isaac will come back to himself if Stiles can get him away from the basement like before.

It seems like Isaac’s amiable enough to the plan until they reach the stairs; Stiles goes up the first two, but Isaac’s feet are firmly planted on the concrete floor.  

“Isaac you’re gonna come back with me, right? Come on; we’ll take the tablecloths up to the party.”

Isaac stares down the stairs a moment or two more before blank eyes look back up at Stiles.  Isaac pulls his hand from Stiles’ slowly, casting his glance around nervously.

“I’m not supposed to come out unless Dad says so, Cam, or he’ll--”

Isaac doesn’t finish the sentence, but his eyes flit back to the freezer and a shudder runs through his tense body.  

_Oh God. Oh God this is so much worse than I thought it was. What the hell did that monster do to you, Isaac? This is--fuck, we gotta get you help for this. this is--you shouldn’t have to coop this up or deal on your own._

_But first I gotta get you back upstairs._

“Uh, yeah, I know,” Stiles replies, playing to the terrified shell of Isaac standing below him.  “But Dad told me to come get you. I’m supposed to take you outa here, okay? He said so. I swear.”

“Oh,” Isaac says, accepting the explanation after a moment or two of silence

Stiles offers his hand again, and Isaac reaches to take Stiles’ hand. Stiles leads the way out of this hellhole, steadying Isaac when he trips twice on the way up. Crossing the threshold is like bursting a bubble, the sound of the party washing over Stiles like ice water.  At least no one’s around, Isaac still isn’t quite back to himself.

_What do I--_

Before Stiles can even finish the thought, Isaac wrenches his hand from Stiles, backing across the room as he demands, “Shit. Shit, Stiles, what the fuck just happened?!”

“I found you in the basement. Lydia sent you for tablecloths.”

“Tablecloths?”

“Yeah, did he just fucking leave you down there for hours to explore your dead mother’s old stuff? Because I’ve been down there like five times and I can’t make heads or tails of it, man, but you found these,” Stiles shifts the tablecloths in his arms before continuing, “in like ten minutes--probably less.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Isaac says.  

“Stiles is frozen on the spot, the delayed freak out slowly creeping up his spine as Isaac sets the others by the side of the door, asking a passing child to tell the scary, pretty lady with the red hair to come get the tablecloth she wanted from by the basement.

“Stiles, you look like you’re going to throw up,” Isaac says.  “You okay?”

“Am _I_ okay?” Stiles replies.  “I should be asking you that!  What the hell, Isaac? Why didn’t you come get me if you needed to go down there for Lydia? Why would you go down there?”

Isaac’s suddenly fascinated with his own shoes it seems.

“I know we’ve been all cold and separate lives, and not like we used to be, but dammit, Isaac.  You shouldn’t--you didn’t need something like that happening today; it’s supposed to be a _good_ day,” he reminds, advancing angrily on Isaac.  “What the hell were you _thinking_?”

The blush that spreads over Isaac’s cheeks shouldn’t be so attractive, damn it, he’s trying to be enraged, not hopelessly in love.

“I guess… uh. I didn’t want to need your help but--but I kinda figured--if I couldn’t do it Lydia’s send you after me anyway.  You wouldn’t leave me stuck down there. You’d know what to do.  You always make me…” Isaac cuts off his sentence, cleaing his throat instead, but he reaches out for the collar of Stiles’ shirt, pulling it slightly back into place as he adjusts his own, like his hands are trying to make some kind of connection with Stiles that his words didn’t.  When he realizes how intimate the contact seems, how close he and Stiles are, Isaac starts turning away.

_Dammit, Isaac, communicate!_

“Make you what, Isaac?” Stiles demands.

Before he can convince himself otherwise, he stops Isaac by threading their fingers together again, walking with him back towards the steadily growing volume of conversation, trying not to let the logical part of his mind overcome his decision to keep holding on.

“Feel better,” he replies with a tired sigh, like he didn’t have the strength to hold the rest of the the sentence back anymore anyway.  

“I do?” Stiles wonders, honestly touched and flattered and his stomach is doing flips at such an honest admission from Isaac about how Stiles makes him _feel._ Talking about _feelings_.  

_But he doesn’t mean what I want him to mean. Does he? We’re barely friends anymore it seems like most days.  That wouldn’t be the case if I really made him feel better. Would it? Unless there’s something we’re both missing..._

The corner of Isaac’s mouth lifts as he squeezes Stiles’ fingers, opening his mouth to reply.  Then Lydia appears in front of them with a circular glass tray of bright pink sugar butterfly cupcakes.

“You two,” she breaks in, shattering the moment, “Left the party of your one year old baby girl!” she rants as she shoves the platter into Isaac’s  hands while ripping the tablecloth from Stiles’, “to shove your tongues down each others throats and cop a feel. Didn’t you?” she demands.  “I’m not an idiot.  It doesn’t take twenty minutes to find a tablecloth in your own basement.”

“I--uh--” Stiles stammers, wanting to avoid any more attention to the events of the last fifteen minutes but unsure _what_ to say exactly.

“Sorry?” Isaac says unsurely.  “But we’re back now.”

 She pokes Isaac’s rumpled shirt to make her point. “I’m not sure if I’m ecstatic or horrified. Either way I’m beyond words done with you two. Go,” she commands.

 

************

 

Stiles doesn’t let go of Isaac’s hand until they’re seated on either side of Ellie on the tablecloth, the rest of their family gathered around as Isaac flicks the lighter for the single candle on the plate of cupcakes.

“You ready, Eloise?” Stiles asks, her fidgeting and grasping hands more than enough of an answer.

“Linky! Iyaak!” She declares, drawing a unified cooing ‘Awe’ from the crowd as everyone gathers around, Allison counting out the beginning of the song.

Her beautiful laugh rings out as the assembled neighbors, friends, and deputies begin happy birthday, some of the edge cupcakes falling prey to her excitement, the pink icing going everywhere as she claps, right at home as the center of attention.

As the song finishes Isaac leans in towards Ellie, smiling at Scott’s friend from work Kira, who’s been assigned the temporary photographer. Stiles smiles over at Isaac when he helps her blow the candle out, and Scott from somewhere behind him yells ‘just kiss already!” to a chorus of laughter.

He doesn’t have time to even blush before Isaac reaches around their girl, pulling him forward with a mischievous look and a raised eyebrow.

_Is he really going to- in front of everyone- but what about New Year’s and_

Isaac kisses Ellie on the cheek just as Stiles is pulled in far enough to copy the movement, the chorus of ‘awwws’ and flashes of the camera making the perfect moment.

As they get up from the tablecloth Kira hands the Nikon back to Stiles with a radiant smile.

“Before you go, look at this one,” Kira clicks the photos by too fast for Stiles to catch, landing on the one of their entire family as Isaac and Stiles kiss Eloise on the cheeks. It’s going to be the best picture of the entire day, he’d bet money on it.

“You know, for a second,” Kira glances over to him as she pulls the strap over her head, “I was convinced Isaac was gonna kiss you.”

“Nah,” Stiles diverts, but it sounds weak even to him as he rearranges the camera, hugging Kira and thanking her for getting the perfect moments immortalized.

_Yeah, I’m totally whipped. Might as well be married I’m in so deep._

Nine months ago that would have inspired a visceral terror in his soul, and now, as he watches Lydia smooth Ellie’s dress while Isaac courteously lets some of the first exiting guests out of the front door, he realizes there’s nothing he would rather spend the rest of his life on. He’s in love. He’s in love with Isaac. And he’s turning into a father to Ellie with Isaac. It should be scary, but as he plucks Ellie out of Lydia’s arms and joins Isaac seeing guests out, it feels like the sweetest and warmest relief in the world.

 

************************

 

Isaac stopped leaving the door open to Ellie’s nursery about two weeks after the disaster with New Years and Erica, like he didn’t want Sitles involved in any moment where his defenses were down.  Stiles mostly understood, but he still kind of missed seeing Isaac’s sweet side.  As Stiles passes by the room, he catches a glimpse of light, and he stands on the opposite side of the door to glance in through the crack.  It makes Stiles want to cry for some reason, even though it used to be a common occurrence, seeing Ellie curled up to Isaac’s shoulder while he read aloud to her. Now it feels like the perfect present to end the day as he watches in secret.  

For all of Isaac’s initial panic, he’s let so much of his instinct, and perhaps his mother, help him and he’s come so far from the panicked young guy with a foreign object of a child. The story of the The Little Mouse, The Red-Ripe Strawberry and the Big Hungry Bear finishes, and Stiles leans against the wall in silence to hear Isaac.

            “We had a good time today, didn’t we, Ellie?” She makes little stirring noises in response, and Stiles feels that same warmth from earlier today return as he glimpses Isaac’s arms laying her down in the crib.

            The door opens silently before Stiles can remove himself, Isaac catching him red-handed.

            “Um, hi?” Stiles says, half expecting an angry don’t-spy-on-me mood shift.

            “I wanna see the pictures from today. Is the camera downstairs?” Isaac wonders without comment on Stiles’ watching.

            Stiles nods, the thickness of impending tears from the adorable heart wrenching scene still warning him not to attempt words.

            “You wanna come see?”

            Isaac’s hopeful tone is beyond adorable, and the careful smile that accompanies Stiles nod is even better.  Stiles pushes away from the wall to look over the balcony towards the couch in the living room, hoping this goes better than the last time he and Isaac ended a day hanging out there together.  

Stiles is eager to see the photographs from the day and relive just how awesome Eloise’s first birthday had been; everything he’d wanted for the baby girl that’s become such a focal point of his happiness.

Today was a lot of good, but Stiles’ mind still hasn’t let go of the horrible realization of what today’s basement fiasco exposed.  There’s some deeply troubling shit about Isaac’s past. Whatever his imagination could come up with seeing that freezer pales in comparison with the truth of the matter, and it feels like scraping rusty nails over his skin to acknowledge it.  It makes him ache to hold Isaac close and find a way to take away all the awful things that plagued his younger years.  It makes him ache to fill the coming years with wonderful memories that will overshadow all the shit that’s happened up to this point.

_But he doesn’t want me, does he?_

Isaac’s words from earlier make Stiles’ heart flutter with the remembered. “You make me feel better.”

_He said it like he wants me here, like he trusts me with more than just Eloise._

_Like maybe there’s something to be recovered from the clusterfuck of New Years Eve after all?  Like we could get back to the way we used to be?_

_Like we could be even more?_ he hopes with a grin.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun extra bits:
> 
>  
> 
> [Ellie's Dress](http://images.bloomingdales.com/is/image/BLM/products/1/optimized/8282591_fpx.tif?wid=1200&qlt=90,0&layer=comp&op_sharpen=0&resMode=sharp2&op_usm=0.7,1.0,0.5,0&fmt=jpeg)  
> [Book Isaac reads to Ellie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apvgbUckC-k)
> 
> ALSO so so so sorry for unanswered comments, please PLEASE know that even when we don't have time to respond to all of them promptly we read them and love them and appreciate the hell out of you guys for reading and sticking with us!!! <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoy this one! We've had the first bit written for months now and SO eager to post it!

            “So that was insane,” Stiles says as he plops down onto the sofa beside Isaac, “but really damn awesome.”

            Isaac’s happier than he’d care to admit that Stiles accepted the offer to come look at pictures.  He’s not sure if it was the success of the party or whatever happened in the basement, but it seems like the distance that’s been growing between them is _finally_ closing back a bit.  Isaac should push Stiles away; it’d be better for all of them.  He just can’t quite bring himself to do it.  Not after the great day they’ve had.  Not tonight.

            “Yeah,” Isaac agrees, soaking in the smiles in all the pictures as he flips through them on the camera.  “She had a blast, didn’t she?”

            “Best first birthday a kid could ask for.  Hey, I’m attempting to see the tiny screen, too.  Move your damn boney elbow,” Stiles whines.

            “Then go get your computer, and I’ll put ‘em up.”

            “Do you know how many steps away my bedroom is?” Stiles wonders.  “I’m so fucking exhausted; I’d be asleep before I even--”

            “Fine, here,” Isaac offers, extending his arms to the side so that the camera is between them when Stiles sits up and scoots toward him.

            Isaac tries not to think about how Stiles is more crowded into his space that he _has_ to be.  He tries so fucking hard to ignore the genuine glee Stiles expresses at Ellie’s happiness.  He really, _really_ tries to look more at the pictures than at Stiles, but he’s failing on all three counts.  

            “Wow,” Stiles says as Isaac clicks the button to display the next photograph.  “We look like--like a--uh--ya know--”

            The reaction pulls Isaac’s full attention back to the images.  

            “We look like a family,” he reiterates where Stiles failed, words out before Isaac can stop them because they _do_ look like a family.  

            Eloise sitting on his mother's old tablecloth by the couches in the picnic setup, with bright pink icing smeared all over her face.  She’s clapping her hands together in delight, slinging the mess everywhere.  Stiles and Isaac sit on either side of her, neither phased by the fact they’re being attacked by a flurry of icing.  They’re both looking at Eloise like she’s their whole world.

            There’s _so_ much Isaac wants to say right now, but he doesn’t know _how_ and he doesn’t want to risk the illusion he’s got.  Something is better than nothing; he settled on that fact when Stiles agreed to stay after the fight.  So instead of letting his mouth run away with him; Isaac just clicks to bring up the next picture--one thankfully of just Eloise to pull attention away from the idea of a life with Stiles he’ll never--

            “I fucked it all up that night, didn’t I?” Stiles wonders, cutting across Isaac’s pining thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Everyone says we should date,” he expounds, “Hell, _Derek Hale_ came to me and said the two of us should be together.  Look at that picture--I can see it, ya know?  I can totally, _totally_ see it.  I think we were maybe headed there until--until I fucked it all up.”

“You didn’t--”

“Don’t try to save my feelings; I know what I did.  I was a drunk idiot who--”

“Exactly,” Isaac cuts in, confessing the truth before he can think better of it,  “You were drunk, and I--I _wasn’t_.  You’d never said anything, _never_ , not once; you’d never done anything to make me think that you’d want--but I was a selfish asshole and I used a moment of clouded judgement on your part to act on _my_ insane idea and risk _everything_ because I--I just---”

“Wait, are you--you felt _guilty_ about that?”

“Of course I felt guilty! What the hell kind of guy do you think I am? You’ve done _so_ much to help me--help Ellie, and then I took advantage of you when--”

“Dude, there was absolutely _no_ ‘taking advantage’ going on,” Stiles asserts.  “I was completely and totally on board with everything that went down between us on New Years.  Why do you think I came home to you? Why wouldn't I have just found someone at the party if all I wanted was--”

“Eloise,” Isaac answers simply.  “I know you love her like she’s yours.   I know--”

“Dude, that was _not_ about Eloise! I love the kid to death, but I love you too, you jackass!”

Stiles freezes as the words leave his lips; his eyes go wide as he flushes scarlet at the admission.  Isaac stares open-mouthed, sure he _must_ have hallucinated the declaration and nearly drops the camera in his hands.

“What?” he says, staring dumbly at Stiles because he can’t possibly have just heard what he thought he did.

“I mean--I--I do, ya know, but not--I mean I’m not saying soulmates or--or happily ever after--or like anything _that_ serious, but--but I _care_ about you, Isaac.  Not as Ellie’s guardian, not as a friend, as--as whatever we are to each other because it’s _more_ than that.  We’re _more,”_ Stiles declares, but he falters a bit when Isaac doesn’t have an immediate reply.“Aren’t we?” he asks hopefully.

Isaac nods as he tries to find his voice.  “Yeah,” he manages finally, word coming out in a croak, “but--”

“But Eloise,” Stiles finishes.  “I know.”

“So how--can we--I mean could we-- maybe try something--just simple? not like--serious but just to--maybe--ya know--see?”

Isaac wants to smack himself in the face for his lovesick babbling, but he can’t stop himself until he literally bites down on his own tongue.

“Just like--casual?” Stiles suggests eagerly.  “Just--just casual, no labels, no promises just--exploring what ‘more’ is?” Stiles asks.  “God, I’ve had this conversation in my head a _billion_ times; you’d think I’d be more eloquent.  Am I even making sense?”

 _You’ve had this conversation in your head a billion times?_ Isaac repeats mentally, chest swelling with the happiness that he’s not the only one who’s been miserable and feeling like this.

“Together,” Isaac says by way of confirmation.  “More,” he adds.  “No labels.”

“Yeah, that sums it up I think, and I mean--now’s the perfect time, right? El is too young to remember it all going to shit if it does.  Not that--I mean I don’t think--I _hope_ it doesn’t go to shit, but that’s what--what the scary part is, right? Fucking things up with the family thing for El, but just saying that if we try now she’ll never know the difference so like--so pressure off, ya know?  And then we can keep us on the backburner because we’re both going to put her first anyway.”

“Right.”

“Right. So then--so this is--it’s okay? It’s good? you’re sure?” Stiles wonders, like he still can’t believe it.

_I can’t believe it either.  I’m kind of waiting to wake up any second._

“Yeah.”

“Because I feel like maybe I rushed into my explanation of--”

“Stiles, I’ve spent _months_ wondering why you didn’t _hate_ me for what I did that night,” Isaac interjects.

_I thought you hated me for taken advantage of you.  The colossal drunken mistake was letting me get that far--but you thought it was a mistake to make a move.  We’re such fucking dumbasses._

“So to hear--I mean--I--I don’t know how to say it,” Isaac stammers on, “but, I--”

All further rambling from Isaac is cut off by the seal of Stiles’ lips to his, timid at first until Isaac sweeps his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, shuddering at the sensation, eager for more and alight at the idea of getting as close to Stiles as he possibly can in this moment.

The idea of finally getting _more._

 

***********************************************

 

            Isaac wakes with a horrible crick in his neck and Stiles’ drool seeping into the shoulder of his shirt.  Stiles is snoring softly, and it should be _impossible_ for Isaac to find this moment arousing but _damn_ he has wanted something like this--something easy and close and with _Stiles--_ for so long that he’s not even remotely embarrassed.  He really doesn’t want to wake Stiles, but his arm is behind Stiles’ back and kind of painfully tingling now that it’s falling asleep.  In the end, Stiles wakes himself with a particularly loud snore, and Isaac can’t hold in his laughter at Stiles’ confused and slightly frightened face.

            “Wassit?” he mutters, looking around.

            “Nothing,” Isaac answers.  

            “Oh, God, I drooled all over you,” Stiles says, hiding his face in his palms.  “Worst follow-up on an awesome kiss ever.”

            “Eloise pukes on me all the time,” Isaac replies, “Still keep her around.”

            “So we should probably--like bed and stuff?” Stiles says sleepily.

            “Yeah, guess so.”

            “Like--same bed?” he wonders, and _God_ he sounds so adorably hopeful that Isaac’s grinning again.

            “Bet you kick in your sleep,” Isaac deflects.  

            “Un-uh,” Stiles denies.  “Total cuddler.”

            “I could see that.”

            “So--same bed?” Stiles asks again.  

            “If you want.”

            “Do _you_ want?”

            “If you want,” Isaac repeats.

            “I would like there to be mutual wanting,” Stiles says.

            “Your bed or mine?” Isaac wonders.

            “My room’s a wreck, so maybe yours?”

            “Okay then.”

            “Okay?”

            “Okay.”

            “Okay.”

 

***********************************

 

They part ways at the head of the stairs, Stiles following Isaac for half a step before examining his shirt, noting the traces of pink frosting by the shoulder.

"Maybe I'll get out of the party clothes first," Stiles says with a sigh, and Isaac nods for him to go change and walks on alone to his room, feeling the absence of Stiles more acutely than he should.

It's late in the evening, everything in his room touched by the last rays of sunset: the dark maple dresser and the deep grey bedsheets creating a warm atmosphere that Isaac longs to sink into.  He shuffles to the dresser, stripping away the shirt that bears the stains--badges of honor for a successful day in Isaac’s opinion. He’s just in the middle of picking a shirt when he feels Stiles come up behind him; Isaac drops the old white vneck back in the drawer.

"We did good today, ya know?”  Stiles says as he rests his chin on Isaac’s bare left shoulder, the heat from his body making everything a bit more surreal and dreamlike.   “Every bit the party that great little girl deserved.  Everyone loved it; plus we were overdue for the neighbors to remind us how much they love Ellie."

"They like you too, Mr. Perfect Party Decorations," Isaac replies.

He can feel Stiles smile, muscles contracting against Isaac’s skin. It's nice, so nice to finally be close like Isaac has _longed_ for over the past few months.  More than ever he wonders if this isn’t the desperate dream of an exhausted uncle rather than the reality he barely dared hope for.  Stiles hums in agreement, and his arms glide down Isaac's own before settling in an embrace.

"Is it weird to say I missed you?" Stiles wonders.

He tightens his hold on Isaac, possessive and hungry, and Isaac's heart pounds. His face burns hot, and he can't help himself from smiling too, so wide it almost hurts.

 _No, hell no, it's not strange at all,_ Isaac answers mentally, but the anxiety that has plagued him from day one in all things involving Stiles gags him and the words never make it past his lips.

"I mean--I know neither of us _went_ anywhere, but--but there was _distance_ we didn’t have, not even in the beginning. I felt like you were checking out on me, like--I dunno--it just sucked. It was lonely.  I missed you, ya know?” he wonders. “I missed us being _us_ ,” he adds, and the words make Isaac’s breath catch in his throat.

_He missed ‘us.’_

As if Isaac wasn’t enraptured enough by Stiles’ declarations alone, he punctuates the words with a small suck on Isaac's earlobe.  The feel of it is so electric Isaac nearly knocks Stiles's head with his own.  His blood is pounding at all the unspoken promises in Stiles’ words and actions, and every inch of Isaac is aching for _more._

But this isn't really how Isaac had planned 'more' happening. Someone was supposed to take Eloise for the night; he would take Stiles to dinner--splurge on someplace fancy, the Italian place that just opening downtown or that hibachi place Lydia’s always raving about--Isaac was going to convince Stiles that the back of his motorcycle _isn't_ a death trap, and show him how _alive_ they could both feel, riding the street of Beacon Hills like nothing in the world could hold them back; Isaac was going to make Stiles _melt,_ in every way possible, make the evening the _perfect_ prelude to something that Isaac’s been dreaming of for _months._

It seems Stiles doesn’t care if the romantic prelude of Isaac’s fantasies are replace by a chaotic, noisy, messy birthday party for a toddler instead.  Somehow, it makes the moment even _more_ perfect.  When Stiles raises just a little on his toes, his entire body shifting up against Isaac, pulling a groan out of him that he'll be embarrassed about later, there’s no hope left that Isaac will be able to make himself wait until they’ve had a flawless date night planned to make good on all the things Stiles seems to be offering up.

"Maybe we should see how New Year's would have gone sober?" Stiles wonders.

And Isaac’s gone, completely and totally gone, but he does his best to rein himself in.  

Isaac turns in the embrace, the sun now completely set, the only light to be found coming in through the hallway from his slightly ajar bedroom door. When Isaac speaks, his voice sounds much more controlled and seducing than his scrambled, lust-blind thoughts. The pounding headache from exhaustion warning him that they're not going to get as far as he'd really like tonight.

“Okay,” he agrees with a smile he hopes is much more sultry than the doofy, giddy grin he _feels_ like giving. "We’ll need this out of the way then," he points out, as he skims his fingers along stiles's back, pulling the old Looney Toons t-shirt up and off, separating them for a bit.  Maybe his ego is imagining things, but he _swears_ Stiles goes weak at the knees for just a minute, swaying on the spot.  

Isaac’s lips meet Stiles’ hungry at first, but quickly slowing to the languid kind of pace that betrays both their exhaustion.   When they part to breathe, Stiles yawns, trying and failing to pass it off as a weird deep breath or something.  It’s honestly reassuring that Isaac's not the only one feeling like a middle age parent right now.Stiles stifles a giggle with a hand over his mouth before leaning to rest his forehead on Isaac’s shoulder.

"This isn't going to work is it?" Stiles wonders, and for one, _horrifying_ earth-shattering moment he thinks Stiles is about to take away the absolute euphoria of every step they’ve made together tonight, but then he adds, “I’ve never fallen asleep in the middle of fooling around, but there’s a first time for everything….”

Isaac chuckles softly, relief mixed with amusement; he pulls Stiles with him, guiding them both to the bed.

" _We'll_ work," Isaac says, voice soft and maybe more hopeful and eager than he’d care to reveal.  

He pulls Stiles to lay down with him on the cool sheets, "but maybe the whole you know--this--" he says as he gestures vaguely between them, "can wait until we're both able to hold our eyes open for more than thirty seconds?"

Stiles looks as disappointed as Isaac feels, settling into Isaac, intertwining one of his legs with Isaac, settling his head on Isaac's chest.

"It's not fair, I shouldn't ache like I’m forty, but I totally do. Is this what the next 17 years are gonna be like?"

Isaac is so distracted by the utter joy that the amazing man lying next to him plans to stick it out for the next seventeen years that it takes longer than it should for him to realize Stiles is groping Isaac’s chest; he’s about to wonder what the hell Stiles is trying to find exactly,  when Stiles finds Isaac's hand and places it in his hair.  Isaac chuckles as he obliges the silent request.

"Pretty sure it's only going to get worse," Isaac supposes as enjoying the feel of Stiles’ short soft hair glide between his fingers.  “Terrible twos, biting kids in preschool, hiding in clothes racks at the store; she can’t even argue with us yet; she just has to go along with our plans.  Imagine tantrums over party themes and _God_ picking out her prom dress.  The exhaustion is just beginning.”

It’s supposed to be a list of the daunting parenting hurdles to come, but Isaac is grinning at the prospect nonetheless.  With every day that passes he feels less and less like the abject failure he was so terrified of being.  He’s starting to feel like a man who can give Eloise the childhood she deserves--maybe even a man who deserves to take on the challenges of parenthood with a partner like Stiles at his side.

"Mmmm, heaven help us,” Stiles replies with a sigh that sounds much more contented than exasperated.   “I don't mind so much,” he admits.  “Could be kinda fun,” he adds hopefully.  “S'totally worth it if I get to keep you guys."

Stiles’ words slur in sleep as he continues to mumble on about all the things that await them with Eloise: ideas for next year’s party and the like.   Isaac cranes his neck down to plant a kiss in Stiles' hair before leaning back himself and closing his eyes.  He relaxes to the sound of Stiles happy rambling, and sinks sleepily into the cool darkness.

 

*******************************

 

            Isaac wakes to a small, delighted voice crying “Iyaac, Iyaac!” and a small pudgy hand smacking him on the forehead.

            “Eloise?” he mutters as he opens his eyes.  “What the--”

            “Sorry,” Stiles chimes in, joining Isaac and El on the bed.  “Woke up to her fussing on the baby monitor.  Thought bringing her in might buy us a few more minutes of shut eye.  Wasn’t expecting her to use your face as a drum set.”

            “You know better than to think this little ball of energy is going back to sleep.”

            “But I never give up hope.”

            “Whatcha reckon, Ellie, time to have breakfast?” Isaac wonders.  “Some gourmet frozen waffles or the exquisite delicacy of some bargain brand cereal?”

            “You’re not even gonna _try_ to get her to go back to sleep?” Stiles whines.

            “No, I’m going to get her full and then be a horrible guardian and use some television as a babysitter and crash on the couch,” Isaac informs pragmatically.  “You go back to sleep.”

            “And pass up gourmet frozen waffles?” Stiles scoffs, “Never! Besides someone’s got to stop you from ruining the coffee.”

            “I do not _ruin_ the coffee,” Isaac retorts as he rises from bed and grabs a pair of sweatpants from the pile of clean laundry yet to be put away.  “I just like it strong.”

            “Your coffee is so strong you might as well just eat a tablespoon of grounds.  It’s disgusting.”

            “It’s _rich,_ ” Isaac argues.  “The way it’s _supposed_ to be, not that sugary frothy stuff that _you_ want.  Might as well drink lemonade.”

            The banter continues all through breakfast, along with some general conversation about how neither can believe El is one and how much she’s grown.  After breakfast Isaac puts on Disney Junior and sticks Eloise in her playpen before sinking down into the couch.  Stiles comes to join, but he hesitates before sitting down, clearly unsure if he should take the other end of the sofa or the space right by Isaac.

            “So--um?” he says with a vague gesture.

            “I don’t care,” Isaac lies, because he _does_ care; he wants Stiles to sit next to him, fall asleep with his head on Isaac’s shoulder just like last night.

            “I just don’t wanna like--”

            “Drool on me again?” Isaac teases, but Stiles takes it for the acquiescence that it is and sits next to him.  

            “You’re a total cuddler too, ya know,” Stiles says as he settles in next to Isaac.  “Didn’t see that coming. Figured you’d smother me with a pillow for snoring or something.”

            “I’m not _that_ horrible.”

            “No,” Stiles agrees with a small smile that absolutely _melts_ Isaac.  “Not horrible at all actually,” he says, lacing his fingers through Isaac’s and leaning his head over on Isaac’s shoulder with a yawn before he jokes, “And a pretty good pillow, too.”

 

******************

 

            The weeks following the party are filled with countless small moments between Isaac and Stiles that bring them not only back to the old familiar rhythm, but a step beyond it.  It’s a comfortable, intimate kind of existence, and Isaac relishes every moment.  He gets more of a thrill from every touch of their hands and swift kiss than from a dozen rounds with Derek.  As eager as he is to move forward with Stiles, Isaac could sustain for a long time on the slow but sweet pace they’ve set.  Nevertheless, he’s happy when Stiles suggests a date night, saying Scott has offered to watch Eloise for them.

            Isaac’s nerves work up throughout the day, even though he knows and trusts Stiles.  It seems more and more like his happiness is dependent on Stiles’ place in Isaac’s life--Stiles’ place in this family.  He wants so badly for this all to work.  He’s jittery by the time he gets home, but seeing Stiles’ smile greet him at the door, and the flustered look of him revealing he’s as nervous as Isaac help to calm both their nerves.

            “I was thinking earlier,” Isaac says.  “That we might take the motorcycle?”

            “Oh--uh--well,” Stiles answers uncertainly.

            “Bought or borrowed all the safety gear,” Isaac reminds, “so that excuse is out this time around.”

            “Oh.”

            “Unless you’re really that scared?” Isaac asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice; he’d be lying to say he hadn’t been picturing the two of them cruising through the street tonight.  “We don’t _have_ to.”

            “I’m not scared,” Stiles says quickly--a little too quickly, but Isaac doesn’t question it.  “We’ll take the bike.”

            “Awesome,” Isaac says with a grin.  “Lemme shower and all.  We’ll head out in an hour or so?”

            “Perfect,” Stiles says, returning the smile.

 

*************************

 

“So where are we going?” Isaac asks as Stiles continues to mess around with his phone, searching for their destination.

            His face lights up with a successful smile as he hands the phone back to Isaac, his face falling once he remembers they’re taking the bike to wherever it is they’re going.

            “You know we could just take the car, right?”

Isaac doesn’t want to take the car though; it’ll break his heart a little bit to have to abandon the plan now. He’s been slowly trying to get Stiles on the back of his bike for three days, and the process has been as painstakingly slow as the Halloween agreement over the costumes.  Still, it’s not worth ruining the date, not if it’s really that big of a deal to STiles.

            “Yeah, I know,” Stiles says with a nod as he runs his right hand over the black leather of the seat, staring the motorcycle down like he can intimidate it into keeping him alive.

            “You promised me we wouldn’t die so I’m gonna trust you.”

            Isaac would absolutely make fun of Stiles, but the text from Scott he opened earlier in the evening had put things into better perspective. It would make sense that the sheriff had instilled a healthy fear of motorcycles and other traditionally dangerous activity.

            “Stiles?”

            The look in Stiles’ eyes when they snap away from his careful inspection betrays his trepidation, and for some disgusting and probably romantic reason, it makes Isaac feel… special is the wrong word, but special that Stiles is willing to try this with him.

            “You’re gonna be fine.  We’ve got all the gear and stuff, and if I know anything it’s how to handle this bike, okay?”

            Normally Isaac would be out riding in just a tshirt and jeans, but Stiles’ insistence on _safety_ has both of them covered in head to toe, Stiles bossily sending Isaac back to his closet to pull out his old motocross jacket for him to wear. After another fifteen minutes of arguing, Stiles had convinced Isaac into Cam’s old boots and racing jacket. It’s a bit much.

            Isaac gently moves Stiles away from the bike with one hand, trying his best to hide the ridiculous smile that seems to be taking over all of his thoughts and emotions. He’s way too old to get excited about riding anymore, but he can’t beat down the feeling as he swings one leg over the back and starts the bike, laughing when Stiles jumps at the roar.

            “Helmet, you asshole!”

            “Just come here.”

            “I’m not getting on it until we’re both wearing helmets.”

            “Do you think I’m going to crack my skull just sitting here?”

            Isaac laughs at the resulting silence, pulling Stiles forward by his jacket sleeve, holding him there while pulling off the black and silver helmet from one of the handlebars. Before Stiles can open his mouth to protest he shoves it over his head, smiling innocently when Stiles reaches up to rip open the visor.

            “Where did you get this one? It doesn’t smell like you…” It comes out a little muffled, the padding inside the helmet squeezing Stiles’ cheeks and making him look even more adorable than usual. Isaac shakes his head while he connects the headphones to the gps in his phone, sliding his own helmet on. It's probably best to have that conversation later. Stiles definitely doesn't need to know that he borrowed it from Derek's little sister.

"Do you know how to get on?" Isaac asks. Stiles stares at the back of the bike for at least a minute before isaac decides that he's done indulging stiles and he places one of Stiles's hands on his own shoulder.

"Now step on the peg and swing your leg over," Isaac explains, only to watch Stiles try to climb on with the wrong foot, half way through the motion before he realizes that if he continues on his current path he'll be sitting backwards.

Stiles jumps off and slams his visor closed, but not before Isaac catches his cherry red face. He manages to get on but isaac can feel his uncertainty, and he reaches around to grab stiles' floundering hands from his ribs, placing them on the gas tank latch in front of his stomach.

It brings stiles up along Isaac's back, reminding him of the night after Ellie's party, and the two mornings afterwards that he'd woken up to Stiles behind him, breathing softly on his neck. Things have been slow, chaste even, as if the post New Years debacle is still hanging around their necks. Hopefully things will change after tonight.

He pats Stiles hands firmly to encourage him to keep them there before releasing the clutch, letting the bike slide down their driveway, and he feels Stiles' forearms tighten against his ribs immediately.

The GPS starts off by letting Isaac know they're heading down to the university area of the county, and Isaac smiles in his helmet, excited to see where Stiles spends so much of his time.

            They make it to the first stoplight without incident, despite Stiles being unused to the jarring shifts of the motorcycle and the G force as they slow down. Isaac can’t really find it in his heart to complain, as Stiles’ solution to the problem seems to be plastering himself to Isaac’s back. He tries to sit up at the stop light while they wait, but Stiles seems frozen until Isaac peels his hands away from the gas tank, shifting them both upright, pulling his visor up to hear the chink of Stiles doing the same.

            “You still alive back there? No pulverized bones yet?” Isaac smiles as he turns to look at Stiles, his entire face illuminated by the stoplights of the intersection. He manages to peel his arms away from around isaac, knocking Isaac’s helmet in mock anger before answering.

            “Asshole. You know I’m sc- nervous. And besides we have a child to live for,” he reminds righteously.

            The light turns green before Isaac has a chance to respond, but Stiles has a point and it reminds Isaac that he probably shouldn’t split lanes or run reds like he usually would. The result of such careful driving is that it takes thirty minutes to reach their destination  instead of what should have been a fifteen ride at the max. Stiles has been crushing his ribs the whole time, a near miss with a yellow light making Stiles abandon the somewhat innocent gas tank for trying to punch Isaac's chest, eventually deciding to leave his hands there.

When they pull into the university center parking lot Stiles stays frozen to Isaac's back, even when he shuts off the bike and puts his feet down. Tapping Stiles's hands has no effect either.

"Stiles-" is all Isaac manages before he realizes he's talking into his helmet, and Stiles finally loosens his arms enough for Isaac to turn and pull the buckle underneath his chin and lifting the helmet off. Stiles finds his senses after that and reaches for Isaac's helmet, the shocked look in his eyes fading into a more relaxed kind of excitement as his hands fumble with the helmet he bought Isaac.

"Can you even feel your legs?" Isaac asks as he holds both their helmets when Stiles falls off the bike after getting one leg caught on the side of the seat.

He lands in parking lot bushes, so Isaac feels justified laughing as he gets off the bike, pulling the keys from the ignition as he goes.

"No fair," Stiles protests as he heaves himself out of the bushes to join Isaac as they walk up the concrete path together.  Isaac bumps into Stiles as they walk through the courtyard of laptops and textbooks and chattering students.

"What's not fair?” Isaac wonders. “Having an awesome bike like that? My command of basic motor skills? My ability to keep two feet on the ground?"

Stiles seems a bit distracted, his hands twisting nervously as they enter the tea place that was top-rated on the app linked to Stiles’ GPS. Isaac reaches over to grab Stiles’ hand in a lose, familiar grip, and Stiles leans in to rest his head on Isaac’s shoulder, and  feels Stiles’ entire body relax as they wait in the tightly packed line. Isaac takes the spare quiet minute in all the chaos to run his free hand down Stiles' other shoulder, generally elated that they get to do this now.

"My friends from criminology class are here," Stiles informs to Isaac's gesture and Isaac sees what's been keeping Stiles' attention at the other end of the store next to the pickup counter.

There are a few girls laughing and shoving at each other in the corner with tables pushed together, and a vaguely familiar guy sitting two booths down that is openly staring at them.  Isaac can’t help shifting a little under the intensity of the guy’s gaze.  The guy’s fucking hot, no doubt, but however flattering it may be, Isaac’s still not exactly accustomed to being mentally undressed by a strangers eyes.

“Who are they?” he wonders.

There’s not enough time for Stiles to answer before they both have to straighten up and order; the cheery cashier perks up when she sees Stiles, like she knows him.

            “Dude, I can’t believe I’m finally getting to see him!” she gushes at Stiles while she punches the keyboard at the register, not even paying attention to her hands.

            “What?” Isaac asks her.

            “You’re Isaac, right?” she asks.  “You’ve _got_ to be Isaac.”

            “Yeah, but--uh--”

            “Oh, totally rude, sorry! I’m Melanie,” she introduces.  “I’ve got criminology and theories of crime and justice with Stiles.  There’s like half an hour to kill between, so we chat and stuff.  Ya know,” she expounds.  “Where’s Ellie? _Please_ tell me you brought that adorable little princess with you. She would _love_ the little Frozen themed kids drink that--”

“We came on Isaac’s bike,” Stiles says casually, “no Ellie tonight.  She’s with the McCalls tonight.”

“Isaac’s bike?” Melanie wonders, eyebrow quirked in amusement until she takes in the helmets they’re holding, “Oh! Got ya.  Dude, you have a _motorcycle_ too?”

“Yeah,” Isaac answers.  

“Shut up! That is not even fair! Stiles, you better hold onto him because the rest of us are ready to battle it out Hunger Games style if this goes south,” she informs.  

Stiles rolls his eyes and scoffs, “And you say you’re my friend.”

But he looks pleased at her words, _really_ pleased.  Almost like this is something he hoped would happen.  And Isaac is wondering now if maybe this wasn’t such a random choice of outing after all.  It’s close to school, which Isaac knew, but there are a _lot_ of people here from the college. At least one employee is a student. This is totally a hang-out place, and Stiles should know that--at least have heard this place mentioned a time or two, if only from Melanie.

 _So you knew at least a couple of your classmates should be here.  Is that why you picked it?_  

“You know I’m kidding,” she says with a flirty giggle. “You two make _way_ too cute of a couple for anyone to want to break you up,” she adds.

_We’re a cute couple? I mean--I guess we are, aren’t we? And Stiles brought us someplace he knew we’d be seen by people he knows? And he agreed to come on the bike--after suggesting that I change into the grey striped sweater with one of his white shirts._

_Is he showing me off?_

_Holy shit, he is totally showing me off!_

Isaac barely holds in a grin at the realization.

“Okay, so do you guys want to try out the boba tea? Because let me just tell you, it’ll change your life.”

“Oh, really?”

“You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m totally not.  Trust me.”

“Okay, count me in,” Stiles says.  “Isaac?”

“Yeah, sure; fine by me.”

“Okay well, these are all our options,” she says, sliding a laminated list across the counter.  “But this is kind of the basic combo if you want to start there,” she informs, pointing out the green tea option at the top of the list above other tea varieties Isaac can’t even pronounce.

_What the hell is rooibos tea?_

“Yeah, I’ll go with the green tea,” Stiles agrees.

“Um, black for me,” Isaac says, choosing a seemingly safe, easy-to-pronounce option.

“Coming right up,” she says.  “That’ll be $10.72.”

“I got it,” Isaac says as Stiles reaches for his wallet.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, with a wide smile.    

“Go grab us a table,” he suggests.

“‘Kay. Don’t let Melanie sweet talk you while you wait,” Stiles warns.  “She looks all innocent, but--”

“Total wiley temptress,” Melanie declares with an exaggerated wink to Isaac.

Stiles unsurprisingly heads toward the back of the shop and the people he indicated as classmates earlier.  They welcome him in, helping him pull up two more chairs.  Isaac stands in awkward silence as Melanie and the other worker behind the counter mix up the ordered drinks.

“He really likes you,” Melanie says when she brings over the completed drinks.  “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, kinda figured,” Isaac replies, unsure what else to say to that comment.

“I'm talking pictures of your guys' kid as his lock screen kind of likes you. I just mean--he’s a good guy, and he likes you, so don’t mess it up, and don’t hurt him.”

“I break his heart; you break my face?” Isaac supposes.

“Something like that,” she says, but she’s smiling kindly and continues, “It’s seriously really great to meet you after hearing so many stories and all.  Tell Stiles he should bring you around more often.”

“Well, if this tea is as life-changing as you claim, we’ll _have_ to be back.”

“Exactly,” she agrees.  “All part of our diabolical master plan to rule the world through boba.”

“Clever,” Isaac tells her as he grabs the tea and starts off to meet Stiles.  “Good to meet you too, Melanie.”

When Isaac gets to the table he interrupts Stiles in the middle of a dramatic retelling of the yellow light incident on the way here, the smaller of the two girls at the table leaning over his helmet and hugging it, smiling at the story.

"Babe, your partner is here," she says with a smile, interrupting Stiles mid-story before her friend seems to stomp on her foot if the wince on her face is any indication.

"She means _riding_ partner, of course, right Marie?"

"Sure, Lynne," she answers before occupying herself with her own drink as Stiles smiles and takes his drink from Isaac as they settle in around the tiny table.

"So now you've met my insane friends," Stiles says as he rolls his eyes at them before fondly looking back at Isaac. "Try the drink with me?"

“Cheers,” Isaac says in agreement, raising the glass in Stiles’ general direction before taking his first sip.

The taste is a bit surprising at first but gets better with the chewy stuff at the bottom, the perfect mixture of sweet and tasteful. Isaac smiles back and Marie jumps in, chastising Stiles for not hanging out with them often enough.

"We used to get almost daily updates," Lynne informs Isaac with a corroborating nod from Marie, taking a long sip from her position atop his helmet.

"I have to say I particularly enjoyed Halloween," Marie agrees, smiling at Isaac like she's finally found her lost dog, the experience is unnerving until he glances over at Stiles for some guidance to find him sinking in his chair, trying to hide his mortification at their revealing words.

"So do you just tell anyone who will listen to you for more than five minutes about Ellie and me?"

"Oh absolutely," Lynne confirms as she swirls the ice in her tea, nodding to Marie before continuing. "After all the pictures we definitely didn't mind. Although I think Danny showed up mostly to see if you were real or not."

"Danny?"

"Hot as the sun, currently looking anywhere but this table," Marie answers with a nod towards the guy that was staring them down when they came in.

"You know, Stiles used to-" Stiles stops the sentence by pulling his helmet out from underneath Marie, sending her crashing into her own drink, sputtering and coughing.

"Stiles, you ass!" Lynne exclaims, smacking the side of his head.

"Sorry Marie," Stiles mutters, not sounding sorry at all. Marie recovers with a glare to Stiles, switching her attention back to Isaac.

"I could be terrible and tell you embarrassing shit about Stiles..."

"I mean we've known him long enough," Lynne pipes up before letting Marie continue.

"But we only get to hear cute Ellie stories that involve you and her, and we want to hear some stories _from_ you!"

"Oh uhh..."

It's unfortunate that Isaac and Stiles haven't been on the greatest of terms the past few months, mainly because it means there's not a whole lot to tell.

"You guys stop torturing him... And me. Please," Stiles begs.

"Oh come on Stiles, we just want to hear how great you are, I mean it's not like Isaac has anything bad to say." Lynne smiles at both of them with kind eyes, and the action puts Isaac at peace.

"I don't mind, Stiles."

"Sweet!" Marie declares. "Tell us a cute Eloise and Stiles story."

Isaac starts off telling the two girls but finds he's telling the story more to Stiles than anyone else. A couple of times he catches Marie and Lynne smiling at each other before attentively turning back to Isaac. The only good story to come of those silent months was when Isaac listened to Stiles about a month ago, with Stiles pacing the hall as she screamed and sobbed, trying to calm her to sleep.

"You umm, you did that thing you did the first night with us, and you finally went downstairs to the couch, laid her down on your chest and sang _Let It Be_ to her. She sighed and dropped right off, and I think that was the first time I heard you tell her seriously that you loved her." Stiles looks a little off at the statement and Isaac rushes to clarify. "Not that you didn't already..."

Marie rattles the ice of her empty drink in the quiet of the table, and reaches over to take Isaac's empty one before getting up to deposit them in the trash.

"Awe, we never get to hear stuff like that from Stiles" Lynne says as Marie returns, nodding in agreement.

Stiles rejoins the conversation as it shifts towards summer plans, the vague plans of internships and exchange semesters disgussed between the three of them reminding him that he's got his own career to advance in these next few months.

They part with Marie and Lynne at the entrance to the parking lot, the two of them heading off in the direction of the apartments nearby after stopping by to see Isaac's motorcycle with them.

"Sorry about them," Stiles says as he climbs on the back of the bike, his hands still busy checking the strap of the helmet.

"I kind of liked them, but they're kind of---"

"Like two of the Fates from the Disney Hercules movie?" Stiles cuts in, and Isaac laughs at the comparison.

It's kind of perfect. One very tall and one very short, finishing each other's sentences, intense staring, the whole bit.

"I was going to say overly invested in your love life, but that works too."

"Marie in particular wanted to, and I quote, 'see my paperback hero' in person the first time I told them about you, so really they were trying to keep their weird down for you."

"I'm kind of looking forward to seeing them again though," Isaac says as he starts the bike, smiling as he feels Stiles cling to him.  “And we gotta make that tea stuff a regular thing.”

The drive home is considerably more fun, Isaac going a little bit faster, taking a little bit more risk to feel Stiles pressed up against him until they pull the bike into the garage.

 

*************************************

 

            “So,” Isaac says once he pulls his helmet off.  “What’d you think?” he wonders, grabbing Stiles’ helmet and lifting it off his head, enjoying the way Stiles manages to look fantastic even with a bit of helmet hair going on.  

            Stiles opens his mouth, but for once it seems he’s a little lost for words.  Instead his lips just curve into a smile, small at first, until he’s beaming at Isaac like he hung the goddamn moon or something.  Just as Isaac is starting to blush under the gaze, Stiles surges forward, backing him against the wall of the garage as his kisses Isaac deep but frantic and a little sloppy but Isaac sure as _fuck_ doesn’t mind.

            “That was,” Stiles gasps, finally finding his words between kisses, “the most...incredible,” he goes on, now tugging at Isaac's jacket before starting on his own, “sexy, _terrifyingly_ exhilarating thing _ever_.”

            “Told you we wouldn’t die,” Isaac says with a smirk as he finishes what Stiles started, leaving both jackets on the concrete.  “It’s awesome.”

            “It was all fucking awesome,” Stiles agrees.  “ _You’re_ fucking awesome.”

            Isaac chuckles and turns to push the button to close the door.  “So eloquent.”

            “Eloquent is over-rated,” Stiles informs him, pulling the hem of Isaac's shirt when he catches up.  “Right now, I am high on adrenaline with a gorgeous greek god all to myself,” he adds, bringing his lips to Isaac’s for another round of eager kisses.   

            “Greek god, huh?” Isaac wonders when the part at the bottom of the stairs, breathless.  “So you noticed Danny’s reaction when we walked in?” he teases.

            “Maybe,” Stiles hedges, a little bashful to be called on his jealousy it seems, but Isaac couldn't be more thrilled that Stiles wants Isaac all to himself.

            “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Isaac assures.  “Bedroom?” he wonders.  “Ellie-free for another few hours,” he reminds shamelessly.

            Isaac and Stiles both shed the last few layers on the way upstairs.  They lose a little momentum by the time they're back in Isaac's room, but Isaac’s confident enough that they can gain it back pretty quickly, at least, he’s confident until he sees Stiles’ face.  The look of trepidation makes Isaac feel like he just swallowed lead, and the disappointment weighs him down and floods him with in dread.

            _Fuck! No!  I thought---I thought we were finally gonna…._

“So--uh--just--just to--maybe--ya know--clarify,” Stiles stammers, avoiding Isaac's gaze as he leans against the back of the bedroom door.

            “Uh-huh,” Isaac says, trying to keep the misery out of his voice, trying not to rush Stiles and pin him against the door and make him forget any worry he might have.

            “When you said I have nothing to worry about...does that mean...I mean, no _one_ to worry about? Or...or what exactly?”

            “You mean Derek,” Isaac assumes, looking down at the carpet. What a fucking mess this whole thing has been, and his mind flashes back to all the arguments and silent treatments that he's caused because of Derek.

   _You definitely don't want someone as used up as I am. I know you've seen the after effects of Derek fucking me._

            “I’m just--I don’t know if I can compete with Derek, and I don’t think I can be like Derek for you, and just--I just had to kinda put that out there--before--ya know--expectations and stuff,” Stiles finishes unsurely, biting at his lip as he averts his gaze, adorably nervous.

            “Be like Derek?” Isaac asks, shocked that Stiles doesn't want to find a way out of this.  You’re not--you and Derek don’t even exist in the same fucking world, Stiles.  Not to me. I don't think you'd be anything like him.”

  _I hope not anyway. I don't want you to be like him at all._

            “Oh,” Stiles says, eyes back up to Isaac’s face now, wide in surprise at the declaration.  

            It seems he’s temporarily speechless for the second time tonight; Isaac’s not sure if it’s a really good omen for their impending not-calling-it-a-relationship or if it’s a sign of the apocalypse.  Right now he doesn’t care which.

            “Am I competing with Erica?” he asks, not because it’s going to change anything he’s about to do, but because he’d like to be ready for the punch instead of blind-sided later.

            “You’ve never been competing with Erica,” Stiles says simply as he stands up from the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets, embarrassed.  

            “Good,” Isaac replies, taking the chance to close the distance between him and Stiles and replace conversation with kisses again; Isaac’s much better at kisses than conversation anyway. He pulls stiles' hands out of their hiding place and encourages him to explore like he's intending to, running his own hands over Stiles' shoulders to pull him in as close as possible.

            He backs them up until the back of Stiles’ legs hit the edge of the bed and he breaks the kiss, reaching up to frame Isaac's face and push his hair away from his forehead with a private little smile that Isaac returns.  Stiles leans back as soon as Isaac puts an arm around his waist and climbs on the bed with one knee on the mattress, slowing their fall. Isaac braces on his elbows above Stiles, rutting their hips together as he abandons Stiles’ mouth to start working his way towards Stiles’ collarbone.  

            “I--uh--if--uh,” Stiles gasps out, his nails curling into Isaac's lower back, “ _Fuck,_ Isaac, if these jeans don’t come off soon I’m gonna die,” he informs, blurting the sentence like it’s all one word, and more of a moan than anything really.  

            Isaac smiles against the skin of Stiles’ chest, running his hand down to palm at the bulge of Stiles’ jeans while he gets on his knees to hover over the gorgeous sweaty guy beneath him .  Stiles groans, arching up off the bed into the touch, seeking more friction.  As much as Isaac wants to rachet this up a level or two, he’s not so sure it’s the best plan for the longevity of this whole arrangement.   Of course that doesn’t mean that Isaac can’t still do his damnedest to blow Stiles’ mind.  

            “I could help with that,” Isaac murmurs in Stiles’ ear, relishing the moan that words alone pull from Stiles.  “Want me to?” He pushes against Stiles's erection again and he huffs at the lack of Isaac.

            “Dude, yes,” Stiles agrees emphatically before collecting himself a bit more to add, “I mean--uh--if that’s--if you’re good with that?”

            Isaac just nods, shifting weight and sitting back, unbuttoning Stiles’ jeans and sliding them down slowly.  Stiles throws his head back into the mattress, and Isaac can’t help but grin.  If this is how gone Stiles is and they haven’t even _really_ got going yet, the rest is sure to be thoroughly satisfying, even with Isaac’s lackluster skills. Stiles is more gorgeous than he had dared to hope, distracting until he notices the little tremors  shaking the bed where Stiles is strangling the life out of the sheets.

"Hey, hey," Isaac murmurs, sliding up against Stiles, kissing along his neck as he lets his other hand wander down to his dick. "You're so fucking hot, you know that?" Isaac breathes as he kisses Stiles and touches him for the first time, completely focused on getting Stiles to stop overthinking and just enjoy. "Better than I even imagined," and Stiles finally opens his eyes to that, his hands relaxing finally as he smiles disbelievingly.

"You uh, you thought about---fuck Isaac--you imagined me? _Me_? Like this?" The s hisses away on Stiles' broken voice when Isaac nods, moving to bite lightly down his neck, licking over the marks as he gets to a nipple, making him jolt. Isaac files that bit of useful information away before sitting up and straddling Stiles, getting back to business.

            _I'm not gonna let you forget this. I want to blow your mind. I don't want you to think you'll ever find anything better than being right here with me._

            Stiles devloves quickly into unintelligible words and groans of ecstasy as Isaac takes his cock in hand, stroking the length of it a few times, fondling Stiles balls, and then leaning down to swirl his tongue around the tip.  Stiles squawks--not moans, or anything close to the typical sexy sound you hear in a porno--he _squawks_ \--like a pubescent teen who’s nervous and excited and just surprised to find his body can feel this awesome.  Isaac can’t stop the burst of laughter that accompanies the moment, and for _just_ a second he’s worried that they’ve shattered the vibe of sex, and it’s all going to dissolve into hysterics.  But then Stiles blushes crimson, not just his cheeks but his whole damn body, and says, “So--uh--that was approval, by the way, in case that wasn’t mortifyingly clear.”

            “Good,” Isaac replies with a grin.  “Since I’m just getting started.”

            “I cannot believe this is happening, ohmigodthisishappening,” Stiles babbles as Isaac leans down again, this time running his tongue up the underside of Stiles’ shaft as he continues to give a bit of care to his balls.  Stiles’ words give way to moans again, and Isaac can’t help but appreciate what  a fucking awesome change from sex with Derek this is.  Stiles is eager and pliant and _content_.  There’s none of the terse demanding or condescending comments that Isaac’s used to.  It’s nice--affirming even--and Stiles’ groans of encouragement only make Isaac try harder and harder to drag this out as long as possible, though his own jeans have been unbearably tight for a while now. Stiles's hands find their way to Isaac's hair, the light pulling and the desperate noises above him dragging a moan out of Isaac. He had forgotten how much fun it is to take someone to the edge, tease them until they're desperate.

            “Isaac, I can’t,” Stiles all but wails, “I’m gonna, gonna--” Isaac can feel Stiles's legs trying to curl up, and to his surprise Stiles lifts his hips off the bed a few times, fucking into Isaac's mouth.

            “Mmmm,” Isaac replies, conveying permission as he takes Stiles in deeper, until his dick hits the back of Isaac’s throat and Stiles comes with a cry, babbling incoherently as Isaac swallows around him, reaching up to squeeze Stiles' hands in his hair, letting him know that Isaac's loving this just as much as he is.

“Holy shit,” Stiles gasps as Isaac’s mouth leaves him.  “That was--was--you--are--” he stammers.  “Greek fucking god,” he finishes finally.

Isaac grins as he gets up onto his knees, hurriedly freeing his own cock from his jeans and pushing them down just enough to give himself a little attention.  It’s going to be short work, Isaac already knows.  The sight of Stiles coming undone at Isaac’s touch was enough to have him nearly coming in his pants, but the view of post orgasm Stiles heaving beneath him  is fucking stunning. He steadies himself with his free hand on Stiles' abs as he pulls on his cock with a tight fist, unable to keep his mouth shut, his shakey breaths something Derek would have totally called him a bitch for. The thought is wiped from his mind as he catches Stiles' eyes, his spine tingling as Stiles runs his hands over Isaac's palm on his chest, glancing between him and his leaking cock. He’s _almost_ there when Stiles comes to his senses enough to sit up and kiss Isaac, pushing Isaac backwards until he suddenly finds Stiles' arms around him, turning them as they fall back on the bed, Stiles somehow on top now. Isaac's more turned on and surprised than he knows what to do with and Stiles traces Isaac's collarbone with a dazed and happy expression, sliding a hand down to cover Isaac’s and asking, “let me?”

“Yeah,” Isaac gasps, proud to keep the tone guttural and avoid an awkward squawk of his own.  “Uh-huh.”

“I’m gonna learn what drives you nuts,” Stiles declares.  “I’m gonna figure out how to drive you crazy like you just did for me and it’s going to be _awesome_ ,” he swears.  

“Already is,” Isaac says honestly, covering Stiles' hand with his again and urging the strokes harder and faster.  “ _Fuck._ ”

“Then it’s gonna be even _better_ ,” Stiles insists, leaning down to kiss Isaac, fucking into Isaac’s mouth with his tongue in the rhythm they’re stroking Isaac’s dick.

The sensations align to push Isaac over the edge, but Stiles pulls away at the last second, chucking at what Isaac is sure is a completely devastated expression on his part.

"Why'd you stop?" Isaac full on whines, and winces. Maybe Stiles wants him to beg for it?

"I'll do anything you want, I'll beg if you're into that. I can get you hard again, too?" he babbles, mouth running ahead of his brain and speaking shamelessly on behalf of his aching, leaking cock.     

Isaac tries to reach for Stiles at the same time Stiles pins him down with a hand to his shoulder, kissing him lightly on the lips, and then again on his cheek and his nose.

"Your pants aren't even all the way off, and I'm naked. Just let me take care of you, hmm?" Stiles asks, the same phrase Derek would always use to get him to give up. It hardly resembles anything like those first nights though, with Stiles burying his face into Isaac's neck, moving his nose over his pulse lightly, driving Isaac just the right kind of insane.

"I want to see you," Stiles whispers into his ear.

“No, you don’t, Stiles,” Isaac replies quietly, reminder out before he can stop it as Stiles’ eyes sweep over Isaac’s body.  

He’s back to New Year’s Eve, Stiles stripping away his shirt and Isaac feeling _truly_ naked for the first time in his life, under the gaze of someone who knows these scars aren’t as innocent or as superficial as Isaac likes to pretend. Stiles knows just how deep they all go.

“Don’t,” Isaac says, not entirely sure what he means by the plea, just desperate not to let his father ruin yet another aspect of his life.  

_Don’t look at them.  Don’t think about it.  Don’t pity me. Don’t talk about it.  Don’t stop where we were headed._

_Just don’t let this moment go away, Stiles. Please._

“Don’t ask you questions right now,” Stiles murmurs.  “I know.  I remember.”

“Just--I’m sorry--I wasn’t--I should’ve stopped before I took off my--”

“I _do_ wanna see you,” Stiles interjects, firmly, crushing his lips against Isaac’s to renew the momentum a bit before he breaks away breathless to say, “I don’t care about any of that; you’re more than those scars or the story behind them, Isaac.”

He grips the waist of Isaac’s jeans again, but his eyes seek permission when they meet Isaac’s.  “But I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” he adds.

Isaac hesitates for a moment, but if Stiles doesn’t mind, then it’s hard for Isaac to see a reason to stop this.  Stiles has seen plenty of the mental scars; what’s a few more of the physical?   He nods, reaching a hand to help Stiles as he pushes down Isaac’s jeans and boxers.  Stiles moves back just a bit, seemingly seeking a better vantage point, and Isaac blushes under Stiles’ appreciative gaze.

Maybe Isaac isn’t so sure about being “more than his scars” but it’s damn clear from the way Stiles is looking at him that Stiles sees much more than Isaac’s scars.  There’s not pity in his eyes, just a bit of smouldering anger.  More importantly, the lustful look is enhanced by genuine care--Isaac might call it love if the thought of being loved by someone like Stiles didn’t terrify him.  

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Stiles declares, voice husky and earnest as he reaches a hand back to start stroking Isaac again.  “Unfairly gorgeous, Isaac.  You know that?”

Isaac just smirks and replies, “The thought’s crossed my mind,” with more confidence than he feels right now.

As Stiles’ hand brings Isaac back to full hardness, he mouths at Isaac’s neck and then moves down his chest.  At first Isaac just assumes he’s more or less mirroring Isaac’s earlier moves, but then he realizes the pattern.  Stiles is kissing his scars, one by one, slowly and tenderly, even exploring below Isaac’s waistline, to the harsh lines he must recognize as too precise to be the result of reckless abuse. Isaac’s not at all expecting Stiles’ next move to be swirling his tongue around the head of Isaac’s cock, and Isaac groans as his hips buck up off the bed without his consent.  

“Fuck,” he hisses, and Stiles smiles coyly up at him.

“I’ll admit I haven’t really got an _exact_ idea what I’m doing,” he says simply, “but I just had a pretty fantastic demo.”

“You don’t have to,” Isaac says.  “It’s really fine.”

“And if I want to?” Stiles wonders, warm breath flowing over Isaac’s rock hard dick and Isaac’s _aching_ for _any_ kind of friction.  

“Fuck, yeah, Stiles,” Isaac grunts, fisting the sheets in an effort to ground himself.  

It doesn’t take much attention from Stiles.  Just a few bobs of Stiles' head, eyes locked up on Isaac’s, and the other hand cradling Isaac’s balls softly, and Isaac’s so close he might actually cry. He's never really stayed present like this before, and he's damn sure never been so invested with whoever's in bed with him that what they're saying is more important than coming.

Stiles is different.  Stiles is the excruciatingly perfect mix of emotional and physical intimacy.  Stiles is nothing like Isaac’s ever had, and he knows in this moment that minimal, physical sex will never satiate him again.  

_Dammit, Stiles you are absolutely ruining me._

_In all the right ways....God, help me._

Isaac comes harder than he ever has before, with a moan of ecstasy that seems loud enough to wake the whole damn block, and Isaac couldn’t care less.  Stiles swallows around him at first, attempting to finish Isaac the way he finished Stiles; he pulls off before Isaac’s finished though, and Isaac fucking swears there is nothing hotter in the world than Stiles staring bashfully up at him with cum on his flushed face.

“Not too shabby, huh?” Stiles supposes hopefully, deflecting awkwardness with humor as usual, wiping his face on the sheet as he rejoins Isaac at the head of the bed.  

“You’re fucking awesome,” Isaac replies emphatically.  “Seriously.”

“I’m fucking _lucky_ ,” Stiles amends.  

“Both lucky,” Isaac decides.  

“Mmmm,” Stiles agrees with another kiss, only breaking the seal of their lips when they’re both totally breathless.  He falls to his back again beside Isaac, and neither speak for another moment or two.  Isaac honestly doesn’t know what to say--he hasn’t got words for how long he’s wanted this or how badly he’s ached for them to be this close--to get even closer in the time to come.  Stiles finds his voice though, and when he speaks he sounds tired and sated but most importantly he seems earnest as he decides, “Damn this is gonna be good.”

“Mmmhmm,” Isaac agrees.  “Really good.”

About a minute later when their breathing is back to normal, Stiles turns to look at Isaac, a little smile on his face, the same one he gave Isaac earlier in the night.

"Scott texted me on the way home saying they'd keep Ellie overnight. So if you don't mind, can we uh" Stiles turns a lovely shade of pink that causes a wave of protection and jealousy to wash over Isaac, a feeling so intense that Isaac ends up blushing a bit himself.

"Can we what?"

Stiles picks at the sheets before Isaac tilts his chin up to meet his warm brown eyes.

"Canibethelittlespoon?" he rushes out, making Isaac laugh just a little.

Isaac pulls Stiles towards him and lays a hand over Stiles' heart as they settle together, Stiles' hand interlacing with his own after he pulls a blanket over them from the bottom of the bed.

"Goodnight Izzy," and Isaac can hear the smirk in the nickname, Scott having recently convinced Ellie and Kit to this new version of his name despite many protests on Isaac's part. Isaac kicks him lightly before whispering 'goodnight Tiles' into Stiles' neck, using Ellie's new name for him that delights Stiles to no end.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, right!?
> 
> just don't get too comfortable ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: We are now going to be switching POV within the chapter, so Stiles' POV will be regular type, and Isaac's POV will be indicated by bold
> 
> Thanks for your patience through the hiatus! Hope you enjoy the update!

Stiles wakes slowly, taking in the warm glow that the rising sun is casting into the room.  It seems a physical manifestation of the afterglow he’s still feeling from last night.  They may have fallen asleep spooning, but at some point it seems they shifted, and now Isaac’s on his back with Stiles close at his side, head resting on Isaac’s chest.  Stiles closes his eyes again for a moment, savoring the feel of being so close to Isaac, the steady rise and fall of his chest and thrum of his heartbeat.  

Stiles opens his eyes again, planning to admire Isaac’s unfairly fantastic physique a bit more.  Instead his eyes focus on the harsh red line of a scar that runs near the base of Isaac’s rib cage; anger intrudes on Stiles’ sense of serenity as his eyes scan the other bits of Isaac he can see, taking in all the horrible momentos of the years he suffered under a man who should have protected and nurtured rather than rained havoc on his children.  Stiles moves slowly off Isaac, intent on getting a better view; it’s the only way to satisfy his morbid curiosity without making Isaac uncomfortable.   Isaac stirs when Stiles moves.

“Shhh, sleep,” Stiles murmurs.

“Mmmm,” Isaac agrees sleepily, not opening his eyes.

He shifts, staying close to Stiles but turning over onto his stomach and hugging the pillow with his arms as he buries his face in it.  He falls back to sleep almost instantly, but Stiles is now certainly wide awake.  Isaac’s back is an even more infuriating catalog of the inexcusable treatment he endured, more evidence of deep cuts that probably needed stitches but it seems never got them, patches of scars from burns and smaller circular scars that make it difficult not to envision a lit cigarette being smashed down into the pale skin.  Stiles seethes silently, wishing more and more that Isaac’s father was still alive just so Stiles could murder the man with his bare hands.  

_How could you do this to anyone, let alone your own son? He was grieving every bit as much as you were; he lost his mother, and that’s more than enough for any kid to try and handle.  Let alone taking your abuse day after day for years on end.  There’s a special place in hell for assholes like you, Lahey.  I hope you got a fucking front row seat._

Stiles grits his teeth as he tries to keep his fury from running away from him.  He brings his eyes up to Isaac’s face instead, enjoying how peaceful Isaac looks with his face slack in sleep.  There’s no sign of the crease of worry that tends to mar his forehead more often than not; no frown or scowl on his face; nothing to suggest the surliness with which he usually engages the world, brought on from the thick skin it took to survive his teenage years.

 _It’s a wonder he’s got any goodness left in him. It really is,_ Stiles thinks.

It speaks to the kind soul that resides in the battered body on the bed besides Stiles, that Isaac can live through all kinds of hell, and yet grow up to be the kind of man who takes in his brother’s orphaned infant.  Stiles _aches_ to take away all the pain that’s pent up inside Isaac; he’d give anything to be able to piece together all the shattered bits.  He just doesn’t know how to do that without making Isaac balk and shut down.  They’ve _just_ gotten to a good--no a _fantastic_ \--place, and Stiles doesn’t want to lose that.

“How long have you been staring at me?” Isaac wonders blearily, startling Stiles from his thoughts.

“I--uh--well, that depends,” Stiles stammers in reply, “How long have you had your eyes open?”

“Creeper,” Isaac says, but he smiles.  

“Can’t help it; still waiting for the moment I realize you’re a mirage.”

“Seemed like I felt pretty damn real to you last night, didn’t I?”

“If I say ‘no’ does that mean you’ll try again?” Stiles teases, “because…”

“We can,” Isaac offers with a shrug.  “If you wanna. I don’t mind.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at the lackluster acquiescence.  “Jeez, don’t get _too_ excited.  You might strain something.”

“No, sorry. I didn’t mean--I--if you wanna then--here, just lemme,” Isaac answers hastily, propping up on an elbow and reaching to pull Stiles into a kiss.  “I was still half-asleep.  I’m awake now,” he assures as their lips part.  “We can--”

“I was just messing with you,” Stiles interjects.  “Don’t think I actually expect you to blow me within three minutes of you waking up,” he clarifies, laughing his way through the statement to keep the tone light, but more than a little worried that Isaac took the suggestion so seriously.   “I was actually thinking--would you--could we do breakfast and talk maybe?”

The suggestion is out before Stiles can really appreciate how quickly it might ruin the morning.  Isaac’s face hardens a bit at the words, already putting up walls before Stiles has asked or pushed at anything.  He sits up in bed fully, turning from Stiles as he swings his feet off the other side of the bed and stands.  

“Yeah, I guess, if you want to,” Isaac replies, standing and walking to the basket of clothes by the dresser, fishing out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.  

“Demand for a morning BJ and you’re good to go along with it, but I want to talk and you act like I’m dragging you to a firing squad?” Stiles comments.  “We don’t _have_ to talk if you don’t want to, you know.”

“Sex is easier than talking,” Isaac says simply, turning to face Stiles now that he’s donned his clothes.  “That’s all.”

“Isaac--”

“I’ll put Eggos in the toaster,” Isaac interjects.  “Grab some clothes and I’ll see you downstairs?”

“Yeah, sure, but--”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Isaac says with a smile that’s clearly forced.  “I asked you not to talk about it when we’re--ya know--I don’t want it to ruin the moment for us or anything, but I know you too well to think you can bottle up those detective skills for long.”

He’s trying to keep the tone light, like Stiles tends to, so Stiles smiles at the words.

“I know; I’m insufferable,” Stiles tells him, using one of Dad’s favorite adjectives when he’s lecturing Stiles for one transgression or another.

“Nah, you just ask because--” Isaac starts before he seems to think better of it, reiterating Stiles own words instead.  “You’re not insufferable,” he counters simply before he leaves Stiles alone to get dressed.

 

********************************************

 

            Stiles makes smalltalk at first when he joins Isaac in the kitchen.  He talks about how great the boba tea was last night and that they should take Ellie back to try that drink Melanie mentioned.  He’s just getting in on how Dad wants them over later this week for dinner when Isaac interrupts.

“Would you just ask something already?” he says tersely.  “Stop stalling.”

“Says the guy who didn’t want to talk in the first place.”

“Either spit it out, or bottle it up a little longer,” Isaac directs before taking a sip of his coffee.

“I--uh--I don’t know what to ask,” Stiles finally admits.  “I mean--I’ve got a million questions, but I can’t figure out where to even start.”

Isaac sighs, and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s frustration or something else.  He seems to still be waiting for a question, so Stiles opens his mouth to voice one of the many; yet nothing comes out.  Everything seems too general or too personal or too horrible to say aloud.  He’s more curious than he’s been in his entire life, but he’s rendered speechless in the face of Isaac’s daunting past.

 _Guess Isaac had a point; maybe sex really is easier than talking._   

            “Want some help?” Isaac says, with a darkness in his gaze that contradicts any kindness in the offer.  “Let’s see.”

            “Isaac--”

            “What were the classics?” Isaac wonders, biting his lip and tilting his head like he’s looking back through memories.  “Well, there was ‘is everything okay at home?’  They all started with that, but you don’t need to ask that.  You already know everything at home was fucked up,” Isaac provides bitterly, venom dripping from every word as he goes on, “Next was usually, ‘Where did these bruises come from?’ but they’re not bruises now, they’re scars, and you know the answer to that question, too.”

“We don’t have to do this,” Stiles offers, feeling ever smaller and less curious in the face of Isaac’s growing anger.  

“Then there was always, ‘You know we just want what’s best for you, don’t you?’” he adds with a bitter burst of laughter.  “Like they knew _anything_ at _all_ about my life or my family or what was best for me! They had no fucking clue about us! _No. Fucking. Clue!”_

Stiles stares across the table, thoroughly taken aback by this wave of rage that’s overtaking Isaac.  His jaw dropped a while ago, and now he’s struggling for words as Isaac glares at him across the table.

“I didn’t mean--I told you we didn’t have to talk about this,” Stiles finally stammers.  “If you--you think I can’t--I mean I don’t want to just make it worse. I really actually do just want to help,” he manages uncertainty. “‘Cause, I know you’ve had to talk about this before but--but you wouldn’t have to lie about it to me,” he reminds.  “You could tell the truth, ya know? Instead of having to lie or say nothing. You could tell me the truth,” he repeats.

Isaac draws in breath and opens his mouth like he’s about to reject the offer in anger, but instead he clamps his mouth shut again.   His brow furrows as he continues to stare across the table at Stiles, and it’s all Stiles can do not to shy away from the intensity of the gaze.  

 “Like--like with the basement stuff?” Stiles goes on hopeful that the lack of rejection is a sign he’s headed in the right direction.  “If--if telling someone about that, if it somehow helped you to tell me that--which it--I hope it did? I mean, at least I know and I can--can kind of--help with it? I hope? So, I just thought that if we talked then maybe, maybe I could understand everything better--be in a better spot to help and all?”

Isaac’s eyes soften as Stiles goes on, and by the time Stiles finishes the horrible mask of anger has largely receded; Isaac’s fury just bubbles under the surface, something Stiles is more familiar with, more prepared to handle.  He waits with baited breath for Isaac to respond and see if there’s going to be progress on this front today or if it’s a battle for another time.  Mostly Stiles just prays he hasn’t royally fucked it all up by suggesting the talk in the first place.

_But, to be fair, I totally tried to give him an out. multiple times. That counts for something, doesn’t it?_

“Things at home were--were fine before--before Mom died,” Isaac begins haltingly.  “We were pretty much normal.  I mean, yeah Dad drank a little too much sometimes, and he and Mom argued, but it wasn’t--it wasn’t anything like what--what it was without her here.  When she died it just--it broke somethingin him, in all three of us. We weren’t--things were never okay at home after that.  We were never okay, even on the best days,” Isaac finished, dropping his gaze from Stiles down to the table.  

Isaac takes a sip of his coffee in the silence after his words, and Stiles follows suit, trying to think what’s best to say in response. Stiles opens his mouth to speak, but before he can Isaac’s talking again, still avoiding Stiles’ gaze.

“Most of the bruises really were sports--at first anyway,” he confides, and Stiles realizes now that Isaac’s answering his earlier questions, admitting to Stiles the truth that Isaac never told those teachers or counselors who tried to talk to him.  “I was mad at everything and everybody, and I took it out at practices and games.  It’s why I liked lacrosse so much,” he reveals.  “Then things kept getting worse, and more of the bruises were from--from Dad--and the older I got the worse it got but Cam--” his voice catches on his brother’s name, and Isaac clears his throat before resolutely continuing, “Cam always took up for me when he could.  Took Dad’s attention from being pissed at me because Cam was a better match for him, but then--then that recruiter came by.  Cam was always smart; he scored crazy high on his aptitude test and they said--said how far he could go in the military--make a career--make a life--and yeah, he swore a million times that he’d get me away from Dad as soon as he could, but--but--in the meantime…well...” Isaac adds quietly, letting the silence speak for the horrible things he doesn’t name.  

He keeps his eyes down as he continues, “It was like Dad lost Mom all over again, even though Cam wasn’t dead.  It was--he was stuck with just me and--I--I’m--I wasn’t--” Isaac’s words choke of and he clears his throat again.  “That’s where all the scars are from,” he finishes, “Three from lacrosse, but the rest are all from him or fights with him--well, except for--I--”  

He clamps his mouth shut, like whatever confession he was about to give was more than he can handle right now.  Stiles mentally connects a few dots, wondering if the confession is an explanation to the careful cuts on Isaac’s thighs that seem out of place with the other marks of abuse on his body.  It’s a conversation that can wait if it has to; Stiles is already amazed he’s gotten this much from Isaac.

“And yeah,” Isaac says after a pause, finally bringing his eyes back up to Stiles’ face.  “I know you just want what’s best for me--and Eloise. I just--wish it was all different.”

Stiles slides his hand across the table, taking Isaac’s hand and smiling.  Isaac’s eyes are brimming with tears, and Stiles realizes for the first time that a few have fallen from his own eyes.  Maybe they slept together last night, but this is unquestionably the most intimate moment the two of them have had, and even though it makes Stiles feel furious and sickened and powerless in the face of all Isaac’s been through, it also gives him hope to have Isaac let the walls down, if only for a moment or two.  

“I know you wish it was different,” Stiles says, “but you’re not trapped with him anymore.  You’ve made a life for yourself; you’ve made a life for Ellie.   _That’s_ the most important part.  The rest you can work through or face or--or whatever you need to do to handle it, and I wanna help with that every bit as much as I want to help with Ellie. I just don’t really know _how_ to help with it or what to say because I’ve got no fucking clue, like you said.”

“Yeah, but like _you_ said,” Isaac counters.  “I can tell you the truth.”

“Always,” Stiles confirms earnestly.

“And that’s something,” Isaac supposes, “ya know?”

“Yeah. I hope so.”

_God, I really, really hope so..._

 

**********************************

 

            **Isaac seems to be out of words.  He knows that Stiles is processing what’s been said.  Honestly Isaac is flabbergasted that he admitted as much as he did.  Of course, it all had to be said eventually.**

**_Better to rip off the band-aid all at once right?_ **

**Finally, Isaac gives up on all attempt to have any kind of conversation.  He takes his plate to the counter, dumping his untouched breakfast into the trash and rinsing the plate in the sink.  Stiles comments all the time on how Isaac is so attentive to the cleanliness of the kitchen.  He hasn’t told Stiles that they kept a disgusting bachelor pad kitchen at Derek’s.  Isaac didn’t give a fuck if there were crumbs on the counter or dirty dishes piled high in the sink.  They always fought over who had to clean up the mess when it got to be too much for human hygiene standards.**

**But something about this house--being back here--there’s a place in the back of his mind that still waits for Dad to walk in and find something wanting.  His voice echoes in Isaac’s head every time Stiles leaves a dirty plate on the counter:**

**_What the hell is wrong with you, you ungrateful little shit? It’s not enough that I feed you and put a roof over your head? You expect me to be your goddamn maid too?_ **

**Isaac shakes his head, clearing the memory before it progresses any further.  He glances at Stiles, hoping he didn’t notice the moment; he didn’t.  Stiles’ eyes are glued to his plate, he’s pushing bites of waffle around on his plate absentmindedly.**

**_What was I thinking? I had no fucking right to dump all that on you.  You were trying to help; you didn’t know what you were asking.  I should have known better than to bog you down with all my shit.  You shouldn’t feel like you’ve got to pick up pieces just because I can’t get past the fact that my Dad was an abusive asshole._ **

**_This is why I don’t ever want to talk.  The aftermath of conversations sucks.  At least with sex there’s a pretty good shot that at least one of us will feel good when we’re done._ **

**The thought brings up the ecstasy of last night:  Stiles’ mouth gently mapping out all the scars on Isaac’s body;  the genuine care in his words and actions; and the words Isaac’s still not sure he believes, “you’re more than those scars or the story behind them, Isaac.”**

**“Hey, uh, we should probably shower before we go get Ellie,” he blurts, finding words driven by lust where his upstairs brain couldn’t earlier.  He puts his plate and fork in the drying rack and turns to face Stiles, who’s still staring down at his half-eaten waffle.  “And--uh--if you wanna maybe conserve a little water we could…”**

**Isaac lets the words trail off because Stiles is either too busy trying to handle all the bullshit Isaac dumped on him or just not interested.  He tries not to look wounded or pissed or show any emotion at all really as he leaves the kitchen, not that Stiles would notice anyway.**

**By the time he makes it upstairs there’s such a storm of competing anger and desire swirling through his mind that he doesn’t bother turning on the hot water.  He shivers as he steps into the icy spray, letting it run down his back and clear his head or any thought beyond, _Fuck this is fucking freezing..._**

 

***********************************

           

The rest of breakfast had been stilted and quiet, Stiles pushing around his Isaac-burned waffles on the plate in an effort to keep himself distracted. Usually he powers through whatever minor disaster has occurred with whatever Isaac makes them to eat, but after two bites he gives it up. It all tastes like ashes. When he finally looks up Isaac has slipped away.

            _When the fuck did that happen?_

The sound of running water echoes through the walls, and Stiles assumes that Isaac must have gone to take a shower. It only takes a second of consideration on the matter before Stiles abandons his breakfast to the sink and runs up the stairs, keyed up from the terrible encounter and the fact that somehow he let Isaac slip away from all that awkwardness downstairs.

            Stiles hesitates a moment or two when he gets upstairs, listening to the sound of the shower running on the other side of the door.  In the end, he decides to act on the combination of his own desire and the hope that “sex being easier than talking” will gloss over the slightly intrusive feeling of this morning’s breakfast conversation.  

            “Hey, want some company?” he wonders, opening the door as he raps his knuckles to be sure Isaac hears him, although he’s pretty sure that Isaac has seen him already through the clear floor length glass.

            “You want to...” Isaac trails off, turning his head to look over at Stiles, drenched locks framing his face as he runs his fingers through his hair; Stiles is already imagining what the rest of him must look like with water rippling down those fucking _insane_ washboard abs.  

“Ya know,” Stiles says, a bit bashfully, feeling the blush rise in his cheeks as he realizes Isaac may well decline this offer.  “Making the most of Ellie-free time and all,” he points out hopefully.  “Thought we could--ya know, never mind,” he finishes awkwardly.

Understanding dawns on his face, the same cute little smile from last night resurfacing, and immediately Stiles’ racing heart turns from nauseous to anticipatory.

_Thank God I haven't totally fucked this up yet._

“Hop in if you want,” Isaac replies, and he turns to push the glass door open for Stiles.  “I’m game.”

“Seriously?”

“Hell yeah,” Isaac says with a dazzling grin that banishes Stiles’ worry, at least for the moment.  

Stiles steps over the edge of the walk in shower, only to feel ice cold water shock his face like a well placed slap. He sputters and grabs for Isaac, pulling him to the side, hitting equally cold white tiles with his shoulder.

“Isaac!” Stiles exclaims, running his hands over his shoulders, and up to his neck to hold him gently and turn his face up towards his eyes.

“Yeah?” And it’s so quiet Stiles almost misses it.

 _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ Is the first thought to occur to him, and luckily it’s only his hypersensitive nerves from the ice water that keeps him from blurting it out.

“It’s really cold in here,” Stiles tries to mention it offhandedly as he runs his hands down Isaac’s arms, feeling the goosebumps and little shivers as he goes.

Isaac smiles and lifts a hand to glide through Stiles’ mostly dry hair until one hand is resting on his neck, his voice low and dark, calling back all the right feelings from last night.

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

_Fuck yes._

Stiles doesn’t fist pump the air, but he’s pretty damn close when he curls his fingers around Isaac’s shoulders, pushing him into the wall of the shower and holding him with one hand on his chest.

“I think first I’ll turn the water up,” Stiles explains as he flicks the silver handle. “But that still leaves you cold, doesn’t it?” Honestly, his voice sounds pretty damn strange, but Isaac likes this kind of stuff, doesn’t he?

_Maybe I can pull off some Derek Hale level confidence here._

He presses Isaac up against the tile again, with his whole body this time, Isaac’s sudden gasp from the cold and from hopefully having Stiles all over him sending an itch zig-zagging down his spine. He pushes his hips into Isaac as he drags his nose down Isaac’s neck, letting his teeth graze along his shoulder until Isaac’s hands leave the tile to wrap around his back, the cold surprising him.

Isaac follows willingly when Stiles wraps his arms around those shivering shoulders and drags him into the now hot water, relishing the tightened embrace, feeling isaac’s body relax as his head dips to Stiles’ shoulder.

“Isn’t this so much better?” Stiles murmurs as he leans his head on top of Isaac’s, allowing himself a relieved sigh when Isaac nods on his shoulder. They stand in the warm water for longer than Stiles’ attention span can bear, and he lightly rakes his nails down Isaac’s back, intending to tickle more than anything else.

Isaac sways into Stiles with the motion, so hard that Stiles has to put a foot back to hold them up as Isaac groans, the hands on Stiles’ back leaving hard scratches before they become fists.

“Fuck-- Stiles, do it _harder-_ ” Isaac keens, licking up Stiles’ jaw from where his head rests. Stiles’ head pulses with the rush from Isaac’s tongue, Isaac’s _everything._ Stiles is completely useless in the face of Isaac’s request, and almost in a trance he brings his nails up again, ripping down and pushing Isaac into the wall again, the choked off groan from Isaac spurring him on.

Stiles backs Isaac against the wall of the shower, one hand pressed to the cold tile on either side of Isaac’s face, pinning him without hurting him, because however much Stiles may _ache_ to give Isaac whatever he wants in bed, he still doesn’t think he could face the bruises left behind, not knowing what he does about Isaac’s past.  Still, he wants to try at least a step or two in the right direction, so when they kiss again he doesn’t repeat the intense but slow pace of last night; instead Stiles tries to keep the pace quick, fucking his tongue into Isaac’s mouth roughly since Isaac liked the scratching. Stiles never thought he could really get into this, but Isaac’s half hard and he can work with that. He grasps both of their dicks and roughly brings his hand down, the water between them keeping things from being too uncomfortable.   Isaac seems to meet him in turn, thrusting up into it as his head cracks against the tile, and Stiles take it for a sign that he’s making the right moves.  The success of it has him smiling into the next kiss, ruining their contact for a moment.

“What next?” Stiles uses the break to wonder.  “Tell me what you want, Isaac.”

Isaac doesn’t answer immediately. First he bends his head, mouthing along Stiles collarbone for a moment or two, nipping at the skin, a weird sensation of pleasure-pain that sends a shudder through Stiles’ whole body.

 _Maybe there’s something to that whole ‘hurts so good’ thing.  With the right person and all,_ he supposes as a moan escapes his lips.  

Isaac’s lips leave Stiles’ skin and he reaches for the soap, lathering it up in his hands as he leans in for a kiss.  Isaac’s lathered hands travel down to Stiles’ aching cock much more lovingly than Stiles had a few seconds ago, stroking the length as he distributes the suds.  “Fuck me?” Isaac asks, voice pleading as his eyes meet Stiles’ that makes him feel a sick kind of guilt for a split second. It only lasts a second though as Isaac, even though he’s at least three inches taller than Stiles, manages to look like a wide eyed fawn as he explains himself.

 “My thighs I mean,” he clarifies.  “Please, Stiles?”  He bites along Stiles’ collarbone as Isaac’s fingers pull lightly on his balls before dragging up his torso to press against his stomach.

“God, yeah,” Stiles gasps, hips jerking forward of their own accord just at the thought.  Isaac turns, facing the wall and bracing himself with one arm.  Stiles follows suit, using his free hand to reach around Isaac and stroke the length of his cock. The view over Isaac’s shoulder is something else, and Isaac drops his head to watch as well, their breathing aligning.   

“Like this?” Stiles wonders, continuing to work at Isaac while pressing his erection into the tight heat between Isaac’s thighs. “This what you want?”

“Yeah; perfect; fucking love it,” Isaac gasps in reply. “Just move?” he keens.

Stiles doesn’t need telling twice, thrusting in and finding a rhythm that has him quickly building toward the edge, trying to remember everything Danny had explained to him a couple of years ago.   Coherent speech is out of the question at this point; his brain is completely scrambled at the overload of pleasurable sensations, but he’s pretty sure the wanton moans escaping his lips speak for themselves as the tip of his dick pokes Isaac’s balls it feels so incomprehensibly good. Stiles holds in a manic laugh that even in the middle of all this, he’s still worried about doing everything right for Isaac.

“Faster, Stiles, ” Isaac urges, and he tightens his thighs, making Stiles squeeze his hands reflexively. “Please?” he begs, shifting his own body into Stiles’ tighter fist.  “Fuck me harder,” he keens, last word trailing off into a whine.  “Yes, _God,_ Yes,” he cries.  “Stiles, I’m gonna--I’m--I’m gonna--”

“Come with me, Isaac,” Stiles bids, grateful to hear Isaac’s as close to euphoria as he is.   

Isaac shudders against him, whole body clenching in orgasm as he cries out, head thrown back against Stiles’ shoulder, almost collapsing into the wall. Seeing Isaac’s come ooze over his knuckles is weird, since they kind of skipped the getting-to-know-you hand jobs and went straight for blowjobs, but it doesn’t mildly disgust him like it had with some of the other guys.  Stiles grinds into Isaac a few more times as he tugs on Isaac’s dick, even though Stiles can feel him going soft, as he seeks out his own pleasure. Isaac whines low against his chest and Stiles feels just a little hollow as he comes, so lost in it that he literally goes weak at the knees, just barely managing not to bust his ass, thrusting a few times into the sticky mess left behind.  

_That would be a mortifying ending to awesome shower sex… both of us falling down._

He’s still riding the high as Isaac slips to the side of him and starts to rinse himself off, standing under the spray of the shower with his eyes closed, the image of a greek god that belongs in some temple someplace, not a simple shower just an arm’s length from Stiles.  

“Shower sex definitely makes the clean-up easier,” Stiles comments, reaching to wipe a the suds on Isaac’s shoulder that aren’t quite being rinsed by the spray.  And then he sees it. Eight long red lines that are broken only by the existing scars on Isaac’s back.

Tears well immediately in Stiles’ eyes because _fuck that was me not Derek,_ and as if Isaac can hear Stiles’ distress, he turns to dodge the touch. He blocks Stiles’ hand with his own and wipes the suds away himself, not looking particularly upset until Stiles covers his mouth to keep in a distressed moan.

_What the fuck did I just do? Does he even like being… submissive or whatever?_

 When their eyes meet, there’s a hardness in Isaac’s gaze that dampens the post-coital bliss Stiles was riding just moments before.

“Stop. Just stop it.”

Stiles feels a rush of indignance despite the whole situation, his own features hardening to respond with ‘well you could have fucking told me you didn’t like it’ when Isaac cuts him off mid-breath.

“Don’t--I’m-- Derek used to do way worse. You’re fine.”

Isaac doesn’t speak after that, just pushes past Stiles to get out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the rack on the wall and barely drying himself at all before he’s out of the bathroom, leaving nothing but puddles in his wake.  

_What the hell just happened?_

 

***************************************************************

 

**_What the hell just happened?_ **

**Isaac comes back to full focus of the world and it takes everything in him not to scream or start throwing punches.  He’s not sure who he hates more right now, himself or Stiles but--scratch that--he knows whose fault this is.  It’s Isaac’s own damn fault and he knows it perfectly fucking well.  The familiar loathing churns in his gut, erasing the temporary euphoria, like it always does.  He curses how easily he gave in to letting Stiles lead, how he went through the familiar motions without thought, how he didn’t stop to realize that this is _exactly_ the shit he thought would change with Stiles. **

**_Who am I kidding? I’m not fucking capable of staying on Stiles’ level.  Maybe for a little while sure, maybe it worked last night, but at the end of the day I know who I am and what I deserve out of life.  Sex is not the bullshit scenes from soap operas and chick flicks.  It’s just about meeting a need and filling a space.  At least--that’s the only kind of sex I know anything about--and I’m not exactly casanova with just those basics.  If there was an ounce of natural topping ability in me, it would’ve shown now, with Stiles.  He’s so new to all this, so unsure._ **

**_Not like Derek who know what to say and how to lead.  Derek who taught me just about everything I know about fucking. It made sense for Derek to top most of the time; it made sense that I would give in to a guy like that.  But Stiles? Stiles Stilinski? I’m gonna roll over for someone like--_ **

**Guilt churns in Isaac’s stomach before he finishes the traitorous thought.  He’s damn lucky to have Stiles in his life at all, much less that Stiles is willing to look past everything else and let Isaac in his pants.  Maybe even more than just friends with benefits.   Just last night he was swearing to Stiles that he and Derek weren’t in the same universe to Isaac.  Now he’s comparing the two? _And_ having the audacity to think Stiles could be lacking?  **

**_I am such an asshole.  What the hell is wrong with me?_ ** **Isaac laments, leaning on the dresser and letting his head hang, watching water droplets from his hair splash down onto the wood surface.**

**“Isaac?” Stiles says, voice quiet and concerned.**

**_What the fuck was I thinking? Dragging you into this cess pool with me?  I’m not good for you, Stiles.  I’m really not.  I’m the fucked up, angry jackass who’s bound to disappoint you and ruin your life and just---I’m not good for you.  I’m the kind of guy who should just stick to the basics and to people like Derek who can keep sex as just sex and not get weighed down with all my ridiculous baggage._ **

**_You don’t deserve this bullshit from me; I sure as hell don’t deserve you._ **

**“Yeah?” Isaac replies finally, trying to feign that he’s fine while his mind wars between a desperate desire to never have such mechanical meaningless sex with Stiles again and an equally desperate desire to avoid the intense intimacy of last night.**

**“Are you okay?”**

**“Yeah, I’m good,” he lies.**

**_Just confused as fuck and terrified and I’ve got no fucking idea what to do with all this.  I thought I wanted you--and I do--but I’m not so sure I’m guy I thought I was--or the one you think I am.  I’m just--too fucking damaged for this shit.  I should fucking know better by now.  I should’ve---I don’t know what I should’ve done--I don’t know what I should do now._ **

**_Godammit, sex is supposed to be easier than talking.  Sex is supposed to let off steam and clear my head. Not make everything more confusing and complicated and awful._ **

**“Did I do something?” Stiles wonders.  “Or like--I mean that didn’t _totally_ suck, right? You--you came too, so--it was--good?” Stiles is biting at his lip, clearly wounded and worried at the turn of events, so Isaac forces a smile.  **

**“It was fucking _awesome_ , Stiles,” he says.  “Don’t worry about it.”**

**“I just--”**

**“We should get dressed and go pick up Ellie,” Isaac interjects.  “We promised Allison and Scott we’d be there before lunch.”**   

 

******************************

 

**Stiles barges right past Isaac when they get to Scott and Allison’s apartment door, leaving Isaac mid-knock. He’s already talking loudly and laughing with Scott by the time Isaac gets himself through the door, Stiles has parked himself on their livingroom couch next to Allison, curled up in a ball at the end of it.**

**“Come in, man,” Scott smiles at him from the other end of the couch, and Isaac realizes he’s just been lingering in the doorway like an idiot. He takes a seat in one of the structured and oversized chairs that scream ‘Lydia’ and finds himself more comfortable than he had anticipated. He looks around to see that the place is in more disarray than usual, boxes piled everywhere.**

**Instead of greeting Scott and Allison like a normal fucking human being would, “You’re moving?” comes out instead, a little surprised and a lot disappointed. He’s known them less than a year and they’re already leaving?**

**At the declaration, Stiles looks around and the same surprise and sadness dawn on his face when he sees most of the artwork leaning against the walls on the ground, and clothes piled in the kitchen as he jerks to peer over the back of the couch.**

**“Allison, what the fuck?” Stiles looks gray as he grabs her hand. “Please tell me you didn’t take that job in France your father has been trying to push down your throat.” She barely opens her mouth before he dodges her head and stares at Scott.**

**“You- you-” Stiles is either angry enough that words have failed him, or something else completely wrong is going on. Isaac’s half way out of the chair before Scott practically climbs over Allison, earning him a punch in the ribs from her that he ignores as he pries Stiles’ hand off of Allison’s and gets up into his face.**

**“Stiles, just chill. We’re not leaving Beacon Hills.”**

**Stiles finally seems to breathe when Scott does at the end of his sentence, and Isaac lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Isaac relaxes back into the chair as Scott continues to explain himself.**

**“Mom is giving us the house!” Scott practically bounces with the information, jostling Allison, her goodnatured sigh putting Isaac at further peace. She glances over to smile at Isaac before pushing Scott back to an on-the-couch seated position.**

**“Melissa is tired of living in that big house alone, she told us at our wedding that we could move in with her, but-” Allison looks over at Scott, threading her fingers through his.**

**“We didn’t want to get in her way with Kit and all,” Scott finishes with a puppy smile, leaning towards Allison. “But since she’s moving in with John after the wedding there was a spare house in the deal and… I mean the apartment was small to begin with but it’s so much worse with a kid.” Isaac looks around at the homey space, and is about to say otherwise until he remembers his own house. It’s four bedrooms and still seems small with a toddler and Stiles.**

**“Yeah, I can see that,” Isaac says to the room at large. It earns him three curious faces since he’s said basically nothing this entire time, and he looks at Stiles, telepathically begging him for some help with this conversation.**

**“Well I mean having a huge ass house has its perks,” Stiles winks over at Isaac. “You guys having one too will be great for Kit, and adult dinner parties...” Stiles launches off into rambling about packing schedules and why hadn’t they told all of their friends yet, and will Lydia be throwing a housewarming party, by the way please repaint that hideous pea green bathroom downstairs, Allison.**

**_You’re not happy about this at all. I don’t know if it really occurred to you that your dad getting married to Melissa would mean… well. Getting married._ **

**They migrate from the living room section of the apartment and lazily pack boxes for an hour while the kids are still asleep for their afternoon nap. The conversation is light as Stiles goodnaturedly complains about how much shit his two best friends in the entire world have accumulated in just three short years.  Isaac is mentally comparing all this to the small pile of possessions he bothered to take to Derek’s.  It seems like a lifetime ago now, living the batchelor bare minimum life with minimum emotional ties to match.**

**_I hadn’t realized how much Scott and Allison have grown on me.  At first it was just Stiles’ dumb friends I needed to be nice to, but it’s been pretty awesome having a whole little family-of-friends thing going on.  I really am glad they’re not moving._ **

**“Oh my god!” Allison exclaims to Isaac as they assess the kitchen for anything they could take over to the house over the next month and a half before the wedding.**

**“What?!” Isaac jumps a little as she punches his shoulder with a huge grin on her face, and Isaac sets down the rice cooker he was about to box.**

**“We didn’t even ask and Lydia is expecting a full repor--well, Uh---anyway, how did the date go? Where did he take you? Did Stiles pee himself on the back of the bike?”**

**Isaac smiles down at her, unendingly grateful that she’s not the terrifying Mrs. McCall, Social Services agent anymore. Just awesome Allison who also rides motorcycles and is terrifyingly cool.**

**“It was awesome,” he answers honestly, unable to stop the small grin that accompanies the words; he receives another punch to his arm in excitement.**

**“There’s got to be more than that, Isaac. Come _on_!”**

**“We had tea.”**

**“Scott, they had tea.” Allison says in a mock serious voice to the kitchen table where Stiles and Scott are seated, folding up winter clothes to go in even more boxes.**

**“Romantic as fuck,” Scott agrees before two almost identical cries echo from the master bedroom.**

**“Oh no,” Stiles laments dramatically. “The children are awake, taking me away from the world’s most exciting sweater folding party,” and throws his arm over Scott’s shoulders as they head to the bedroom.**

**“Really though, Isaac. How was it?”**

**Allison takes the rice cooker and packs it away, and Isaac is so glad that Allison doesn’t do the mushy-emotions thing but wants to hear about the date anyways. He’s kind of been dying to tell someone other than Stiles how awesome Stiles is.**

**“Stiles is better on the bike than he thinks he is,” and Allison nods in agreement as she bends down to search for something in the underneath cabinet. “His friends were there. At the tea place, I mean.”**

**Allison reemerges from the cabinet with a crockpot to add to the box. “That’s nice.”**

**“They are nice.”**

**“Do I know any of them?”**

**_I doubt Lynne and Marie have met anyone but me. They’re a little… well._ **

**“Uh, some of them mentioned Danny? He seems like an old friend.”**

**“Danny was there, eh?” Allison leans her hip on the counter and bites her lip in what Isaac hopes is nothing more than passing interest.**

**“You know Stiles used to think the sun shined out of Danny’s ass. Sort of Stiles’ ‘turning point’ if you know what I mean…”**

**As if the universe could sense that Isaac wanted to find out more about Stiles’ past than what he’s carefully revealed over the last nine months or so, Stiles and Scott come back into the kitchen area with sleep-drugged babies making generally upset noises.**

**Allison leaves the kitchen to take Kit in her arms and sit on the kitchen table chair, standing him up on her lap and smiling at him, getting him to laugh.**

**“Mommy Mommy Mommy!” Kit declares in higher and higher screams of excitement until she blows a raspberry on his tummy and continues to generally entertain his laughter.**

**“Isaac,” Stiles says as he hands Ellie off to him, “their crib for Kit is in their bedroom. How badly does that suck?” Ellie snuggles into Isaac’s neck and quiets quickly enough, her cold little nose brushing along one of Stiles’ bruises on his collarbone.**

**“Yeah well it’ll all be fixed when we’re in the house,” Scott mutters, sending Stiles into a giggling fit he tries only half way to contain.**

**As if the comeback has just hit him and it was too good to waste, Scott plops himself down with the piles of sweaters and looks over at them casually as he shakes out an old Harley-Davidson sweatshirt.**

**“Speaking of sucking, how was the sex?”**

**Stiles seems to fumble with literally nothing in his hands, his shoulder brushing up against Isaac’s arm. Isaac shrugs with the shoulder not occupied with Ellie and grins back at Scott while Stiles attempts and fails to produce words from the English language.**

**“Apparently, better than whatever you _didn’t_ get last night, McCall.”**

**Allison snorts with approval as she picks Kit up and goes to hug Stiles with one arm.**

**“Don’t let him get to you,” she explains with a little shake. “He’s just excited that you’re getting everything he got a couple of years ago.” She gives Isaac a serious ‘I’ll kill you if I must’ look around Stiles’ head before releasing Stiles and patting Ellie’s head.**

**“Thanks for helping out a little, guys; we’ll probably have you on-call for some furniture moving after the wedding.”**

**“Thanks for watching Ellie overnight,” Isaac smiles back.  “We totally accept payment for moving shit in the form of free babysitting,” he adds.**

**Stiles looks beyond grateful for the polite opportunity to leave, and takes it as he smacks Scott on the back of the head and laughs before he beckons Isaac to the door.**

**They’re heading out into the parking lot when Stiles brushes into Isaac’s shoulder again.**

**“Was the sex good though? Both times?”**

**His voice is tinged with the same faux relaxation that Isaac has heard dozens of times from him, and the same feeling of warm possessiveness from last night rushes over him.**

**“I wouldn’t have wanted anything else from anyone else. It was great. I loved it.”**

**_This morning was my fault. I won’t let it ruin things again._ **

 

********************************

“Penny for your thoughts,” Stiles says quietly from the doorway as he watches Isaac rock their sleeping toddler after a bedtime story.  

            Isaac’s mood has been subdued over the past week--well more subdued than usual--after the conversation that dredged up memories he no doubt would rather keep buried.  Stiles has wished more than once that he would have just let the conversation wait.   Now he’s trying to find every opportunity possible to _gently_ nudge Isaac into letting walls down again.  Stiles wants more than anything to hash it all out and get things straight.  Still, Isaac’s reluctance to share and Stiles’ own embarrassment that he’s no doubt failing miserably to live up to his side of the sex relationship are daunting obstacles to conquer before the conversation can happen.  Instead they’ve been distracting themselves with Ellie all week--their own personal method of denial that they’re working into an art form.

            “Not sure they’re worth that much,” Isaac answers with a shrug, “just...thinking.”

            “Okay,” Stiles concedes, taking the words as the usual dismissal.  

            He turns to leave, but Isaac’s voice stops him.

            “So I can tell you the truth,” he says, and Stiles turns back to face him, nodding confirmation, and trying not to look too happy that they’re _finally_ breaching the topics they brought to light last week.  “But what the hell am I supposed to tell _her_?” Isaac wonders, gazing down at the sleeping child.  “That her grandfather was a monster? That her father didn’t join up to serve his country so much as to run away from a home that was hell for him?  That the only family she’s got left is a fucked up uncle who--”

            “Hey,” Stiles interjects softly.  “That’s one of my favorite people in the world you’re insulting,” he adds with a smile.   

            “I’m serious.”

            “So am I,” Stiles persists.  

            “ _Stiles_.”

“I know that there’s a _lot_ of awful stuff; things even I have no clue about.  But as for what you tell Ellie, you’ll tell whichever bits of truth about your dad that you want, maybe some of the good memories from when you were younger.  You can choose what you think she should know about the rest.  You’ll tell her that her father risked his life serving the country, because no matter what the motivation was, he _did_ risk his life by joining up.  More importantly, you’ll just tell her that her parents loved her.  You don’t have to tell her anything about yourself because you’re gonna spend your whole life _showing_ her that the family she has left is one of the most selfless, tenacious, and overall fantastic guys on the planet.”

            “Stiles--”

            “She’s lucky to have you,” he finishes earnestly.  “We’re _both_ lucky to have you,” he adds.   “And whatever horrible stuff may have gotten you here, it’s not going to ruin the awesome life we’ve been pulling together.  I think we’re doing pretty good, don’t you?”

            Isaac doesn’t reply aloud, just nods, eyes still glued to Ellie’s peaceful face.  

            “You’ll tell the whole truth to me--as much of it as you want to share, and then we’ll figure out what to tell her,” Stiles says, “ _together_ ,” he emphasizes.  

Isaac smiles at the last word, tearing his eyes from Eloise to look up at Stiles.  

“Yeah,” he agrees.  “Okay.”

 

************************************  

 

“That was tonight?”

“Yes, it’s tonight, Stiles,” Isaac scolds as he stuffs a grumpy Ellie into Stiles’ arms when he walks through the garage door.

So maybe Stiles just wasn’t all that into trying to remember the unofficial rehearsal “really its more of a planning thing” dinner. He’s happy for his dad and Melissa, he really is. Maybe he stayed a little longer than he should have for his Patterns of Delinquency in Juvenile Justice study group. He just thought it was supposed to be Allison and Lydia getting this whole thing together, and the rest of the group would do the mindless grunt work as usual.

Isaac rushes up the stairs without another word and Stiles looks down at the munchkin entertaining her fingers with the pacifier cord clipped onto her green and blue owl dress as she sucks on the actual green plastic of the pacifier dutifully. Her little face is scrunched in anger, and Stiles can bet that she’s picked it up from Isaac’s nervous and agitated disposition.

“Well, you look gorgeous,” he informs her as he meanders to the couch, standing Ellie up on his legs. She’s been tempting them with attempts at walking, and they’re both determined to catch it on film. Besides, being obsessed with encouraging and documenting Ellie’s first steps was an _excellent_ diversion from Stiles and Isaac talking about feelings and sex and all sorts of complicated stressful things like that.  Stiles’ camera has been sitting on the coffee table in an effort to make sure documentation is easily achieved, and Stiles flicks his eyes over to it.

The picture of Stiles and Isaac kissing Ellie on both cheeks had been commandeered by Lydia as soon as Stiles put it on his photostream, framing one copy for the sheriff and one copy for their---Isaac’s house.

“Stiles you can’t wear that,” Isaac says as he comes behind Stiles, resting his hands on his shoulders, a relaxing weight from all the stress of studying for spring semester finals. The shower sex disaster had slowly disintegrated communication until Stiles was back to sleeping in his old room, not a word of discussion or protest from Isaac. Part of the whole ‘we’re on the backburner’ agreement that made sleeping in the same bed possible in the first place.

He can feel himself sink into the couch as Isaac presses down with what could be the intent for a massage, until one hand suddenly begins a journey underneath the cotton collar of his t-shirt to trace along his collar bone.

“It’s a rehearsal,” Stiles tenses, and Isaac backs off from the sentence, taking one hand away from his shoulders and tipping back Stiles’ head to look at Isaac as he looms over them. “Well, a _planning_ dinner. You can’t go in an old t-shirt and jeans.”

_Maybe if I close my eyes none of this will be happening, and we can just spend the night on the couch giving each other massages._

As if Isaac had heard those words exactly, he returns to the gentle swiping motion. Stiles hums lazily into it as Ellie plays with his fingers, giving a surprised gurgle when he bounces his legs a little bit for her.

“He can’t go looking like a run-down college student, can he El?”

She looks between the two of them before bursting into giggles and dropping her pacifier, then looking startled by it.

“But I _am_ a run-down college student…” he whines with a small smile as he sits forward to take Ellie into a big hug. He leaves the couch with a reluctant sigh, and passes her over the cushions and back to Isaac and- holy _shit._

_God damn I am the luckiest bastard on the planet._

Isaac is in the dark green cashmere sweater Lydia got him for Christmas and gray slacks that match Ellie’s owl print in color. He looks fucking devastating, and he lets Ellie grab onto his offered finger with such a loving and adoring smile that it makes Stiles want to jump the couch and just _kiss_ him _everywhere._

“Alright fine,” he says, figuring it’s a more appropriate response that the ‘hot damn, please marry me, _oh my god_ ’ that’s running through his mind, and leaves for the stairs.

 

************************

 

**Lydia’s been faithful to her promise to Melissa, and has kept things elegantly simple. At what was probably Allison’s insistence, agendas were not present at every table setting in the Stilinski home, but it’s clear that she has one that she’s working through as dinner progresses. Stiles has conveniently occupied himself at the ‘feeding children’ end of the table with Scott, and Isaac lets his eyes and mind wander over to Ellie and Stiles freely as the business end of the table discusses various details of the event.**

**Isaac tunes back into Allison explaining the flight arrangements, and it jars him.**

**“Flights?”**

**“It’s a nine hour drive to Oceanside, Isaac. John and Melissa shouldn’t drive that long for their wedding. Keep up,” Lydia imperially informs him.**

**“Right, sorry. Keep going.”**

**“Allison and I will be arriving at the courtyard to set up a few days earlier, which leaves the men with the children and the boxes of things that need to be used for the wedding.”**

**Isaac nods. He had agreed that he, Scott, and Stiles would bring Kit and Ellie and the decorations down a day before the wedding.  Apparently Melissa and John will have already been vacationing in the Martins’ beach house for a week by then, which is different from the plans Lydia had emailed to Isaac. Isaac wishes that he had brought his computer or something to keep notes as things continue to get more complicated when they move on to the boutique cupcakes Isaac picked up earlier today with Ellie for dessert.**

**Allison and Lydia launch into an excited conversation with Melissa over details that Isaac doesn’t want to have to think about, and turns to see the sheriff staring down to the opposite end of the table, contemplating his son. Stiles and Scott are removing their respective children from their high chairs and taking the cupcakes and children with them to the living room to escape the wedding chatter.**

**“Isaac?”**

**“Yes, sir?”**

**“I told you John is fine,” the older man explains with a goodnatured smile that makes Isaac feel comfortable and incredibly envious of Stiles. It’s a strange but not unfamiliar feeling whenever he realizes how differently John Stilinski handled the loss of his wife, but, as always, Isaac disregards the feelings, hurrying them to the back of his mind, and lets the moment pass.**

**“Okay then, John, can I uh… help you?”**

**The sheriff looks pointedly at the back of Stiles’ retreat and then back to Isaac. His throat dries up immediately, and Isaac hopes to any God still watching over him that he doesn’t ask what Isaac’s done to his beloved son.**

**_Well, sir, you see, your son doesn’t want to touch me anymore, and I don’t know how to make it fucking clearer than I have already that I love him and he doesn’t have to be perfect without actually telling him in those exact words._**

**** **“Do you think it might be a little easier for him if he was the best man?”**

**Isaac is surprised and beyond grateful that it has nothing to do with their not-relationship. He’s actually kind of flattered that the sheriff would think that Isaac knows enough about his son to answer the question. Isaac tries to imagine the whole thing, Stiles standing in the sweet little mexican veranda/ courtyard Lydia had found near the pier in a black suit and bowtie, waiting at the front with all of their friends sitting and waiting and…**

**Before it can turn into a full blown fantasy, Isaac reins himself in and nods at the sheriff. Maybe Stiles has been so reluctant about the whole thing because he feels like he’s growing away from his dad. Hopefully this will help.**

**“I think he’d be honored, sir,” Isaac decides before ducking his head at the sheriff’s goodnatured flick on the shoulder; it’s the truth.  Even if Stiles _doesn’t_ want to have to get dressed up and stand in front of people and all, he would still be touched to have his Dad ask him to be best man.   “I mean, I think he would love it, John,” Isaac amends, though the name sounds foreign on his tongue.**

**“My son tells me that you’re getting certified to be an EMT.”**

**“Oh, well, I mean I was just thinking about it really.”**

**“Isaac, I think we all know you’ve got plenty of intelligence and determination to get yourself certified.  Don’t go wasting your life away in the boneyard. Depressing as hell down there.”**

**_You’re telling me. At least I’m visiting my parents regularly though right?_ Isaac’s face must look too bitter for the occasion, and the sheriff’s voice softens.**

**“You know as soon as the wedding hoopla is over, Melissa and I would love to help out with Ellie if you’ll let us. If scheduling is a problem, I mean, so you can get some time in to study. And I do happen to know the entire Beacon Hills EMT squad. I’m sure they can get you into the summer program even though the deadline for registration closed. Two days ago. Without your name on the list.”**

**Isaac feels like he’s ten again, being gently chided by his own father before everything went horribly wrong and conversations like this one didn’t end with a screaming match or other threats.**

**“In any case,” the sheriff continues, “I called the head of the program, Parrish, and had your name put on the list. Just in case,” the sheriff winks before handing Isaac a card with the contact information for Jordan Parrish: Licensed EMT and Bomb Disposal Officer.**

 

************************

           

The rest of the gang files into the living room after Stiles hears the dishes being cleared away to the kitchen, which will no doubt become Stiles’ and Scott’s job for skipping out on so much of the planning. Words have been few this evening between him and Scott, and Stiles wonders, maybe even hopes a little bit that Scott is feeling the same kind of weirdness about the wedding that he is.

            Scott and Kit are situated on the couch as he feeds his son little bites of the vanilla and blue frosting cupcake as Kit does his best to grab for the sugary top. Scott’s always been so damned good at being a father, and he looks over at Ellie from his place on the white carpet by his dad’s coffee table to see her going to town on her chocolate cupcake that Stiles licked all the icing off of. Icing this late means she’ll never get to bed.

It’s been weighing more heavily on his mind as the days have been more and more awkward, but he hopes Ellie loves him as much as Kit loves Scott. The same lingering question is there concerning Isaac as well, because he hates feeling like a just a babysitter, like a means to an end, something with an expiration date. He desperately refuses to think about her growing up, even as she stands and smacks the table joyfully with Stiles holding her up. He turns her away from the cupcake mess, pulling her hands out in front of her like the parenting book suggested in the walking chapter.

            Same as always, she bounces her knees before almost faceplanting, shrieking with laughter because Stiles always catches her. He leans back onto the carpet with his legs still folded, letting her stand on his stomach.

            “When are you gonna walk for us, huh Ellie-belle?”

            “Tiles!” She declares as she plops down, and Stiles oomfs for effect, knowing it will make her all giggly, and it does.

            “Kitchen’s waiting for you,” a stern, upside-down Lydia informs him before swooping his baby away and cuddling her as she sits next to him on the carpet.

            “Yeah, yeah, I’m going, your majesty.”

            “Did you hear that Eloise? He think’s you’re a queen, because we both certainly know he would never say _anything_ that disrespectful to your Aunt Lydia.”

            “Iddy Iddy” Eloise agrees softly, pulling on Lydia’s necklace as Stiles heaves himself from the floor, dusting off his palms as he sets his sights on the kitchen and passes Isaac with a weak smile on the way.

            He’s about halfway through his solitary washing duties when Isaac calls through to the kitchen, and even in their weird suspended state, it still makes Stiles’ heart jump to hear Isaac use his name.

            “Stiles?”

            “Yeah,” Stiles croaks before clearing his throat a couple of times. “What do you need?”

            “Take a break and bring your dad’s present.”

            “Kay just a sec, lemme finish this dish.”

            He drops the pan covered in seared salmon juice and almost wipes his hands on his pants before thinking better of it, and grabs a dishtowel. He wipes his hands as he goes in search of  Ellie’s diaper bag, finding it at the front door.  He discards the towel and turns to the task of fishing out the wrapped picture frame.

            There’s not much ceremony in the gift as he hands it to his dad, flopping on the couch close enough to Isaac, who’s taken his place next to Lydia on the carpet.

            Ellie turns to investigate the new addition to the room, and lightly smacks Isaac’s chest and looks over to Stiles again. “Tiles, Tiles,” she demands, which usually gives Isaac a sour disposition. Stiles doesn’t want to steal his child, but sometimes Isaac certainly makes it out to be that way.

            Lydia gracefully leaves the floor to go join Allison and Melissa on the other couch, somehow feeling  how thick the air has gotten and primly choosing to avoid it. His dad unwraps the picture next to him, and swings an arm around Stiles to hug him as he shows the picture to Scott with Kit in his lap.

            Dad and Scott start up a conversation about the drive down to Oceanside, but all Stiles can focus on is Isaac speaking softly with Ellie, and Stiles ends up staring at Isaac for what seems like eight hours but is instead closer to five seconds.

            “Tiles, Izzy. _Tilles._ ”

            Isaac smiles and bumps his nose into her forehead, and she reaches up to grab his sweater collar and jerk it in an impatient motion.Isaac turns on the carpet to face the corner of the couch Stiles is waiting on, and leads her hands out like Stiles had shown him.

            “Ok, El, go get your Tiles then,” he encourages, and her little face seems fraught with indecision until it becomes clear that Isaac won’t be picking her up and taking her to where she wants to go.

            She’ll usually take a few steps with Isaac holding her hands, and then look around to be picked up, as if she knows everyone is watching her every move and doesn’t want to call attention to herself. Stiles thinks it’s horseshit most of the time, because Ellie loves audiences and attention.

            “Come here, sweetie,” Stiles encourages, bending down from the couch and extending his arms so she knows that he’ll catch her if she needs it. She’s only got to make it about two feet, and Isaac slides his hands down her torso as she reaches out. He lets go.

            And she takes a step.

            Then another. And freezes as the room goes silent, her eyes widening in a warning sign of a crying fit.

            “Ellie, look at you! Come on, come on, come onnnn,” Stiles chants with a smile that hurts his lips it’s so wide.

            She manages the third step and leans into Stiles’ fingers, and he stands to swoop her up with his own ecstatic cry in tow as the room cheers and Lydia declares that she set her cell phone up on the coffee table to catch the whole thing.

            Isaac’s off the ground too, and Stiles is sure that Isaac wants to take Ellie and give her a hug so Stiles lowers her from his outstretched lion king-esque fun with Ellie to hand him over, only to be caught in the sweetest of hugs with Ellie in between them.

            “Hey,” Isaac whispers into the hug as the whole room titters and people demand copies of the video. Kit bursts into tears at all the noise, adding to the cover of whatever Isaac’s about to say.

            “What?” Stiles whispers back.

            Instead of an answer, Isaac kisses him. Allison wolf whistles as an iphone camera clicks, and Stiles thinks he could just stand here with the two of them forever.

 

*************************

 

After the joyous ruckus that followed Eloise's first official walking journey--and the several encore performances, Stiles isn’t remotely prepared for any kind of seriousness to dampen the proud smile on his father’s face.  That makes it rather disconcerting to have Dad tap his shoulder and nod toward the hall to suggest Stiles follow him.  Dad ducks into the downstairs guest bedroom, and Stiles is starting to feel dread encroaching on the previously wonderful evening.  

“What’s wrong?” he demands the minute they get in the room.  “Work?” he guesses.  

“Nothing.”

“It’s not--nothing with your heart, right?” Stiles continues on, not sure he trusts Dad’s quick answer. “Your cholesterol was down on your physical last month.  Melissa’s been more strict than me with your diet so--”

“Nothing is wrong, Stiles,” Dad assures, smile returning to his face as he claps a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.  “I promise. This is something _good._ I just wanted to be a little selfish and steal it for just the two of us.”

“Huh?”

“Stiles, when we lost your mom,” Dad begins somberly, “you were the only thing that kept me going.  I thought I was taking care of you, but you took care of me, too.  We got through it as a team.”  

“Yeah, we did pretty good, huh?” Stiles supposes with a smile of his own, “considering everything.”

_God knows we did infinitely better than the Lahey family…_

“I think we did,” Dad agrees, “and I’d like you to be the one to stand up with me at the wedding.”

“You want _me_ to be the best man?”

“I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have up there with me,” Dad says earnestly.   “But I’d understand completely if it’s--I don’t want you too feel _obligated_.”

“I don’t, Dad.  I’d be totally honored,” Stiles says honestly.  “Just--uh--probably shouldn't trust me to keep up with the ring until _right_ beforehand,” he adds with a comical grimace.  “Or were you planning to give it to Kit?”

“Kit might be more reliable than you,” Dad teases, “but we’re thinking Scott will help him out with the ring bearer duties.”

“Ah man,” Stiles whines.  

“What?”

“I was really hoping you’d tell me that Melissa was going to force Scott into a bridesmaid’s dress and pumps!”

           

****************************

 

**Something’s been weighing on Stiles’ mind ever since they got home from John and Melissa’s dinner.   Between Ellie’s fantastically adorable display of her newfound walking skills and John’s choice to have Stiles as his best man, Isaac assumed they were in for a night of elation.  In fact, he’d been hoping it would be a good enough move to maybe catapult them past the awkwardness that’s lingered the past few weeks.  He can’t imagine what in the world could be detracting from the happy evening.**

**_Sex is easier than talking, and God knows I don’t want to venture into whatever this is. I really, really, don’t._ **

**The thing is, sex isn’t as easy with Stiles as Isaac expected, not by a long shot.**

**_But I can’t just do nothing, right? I mean, that’d be kind of a jerk move._ **

**_Decisions...decisions…_ **

**_Dammit things were so much easier with Derek._ **

 

****************************

 

            Stiles doesn’t notice Isaac’s entrance until the bed shifts as Isaac climbs under the covers on the other side.  He turns to look at Isaac over his shoulder, a bit bashful at being caught so lost in his thoughts.  They aren’t in Isaac’s room, after all, and they haven’t slept together in over a week. But he doesn’t want to say anything to make Isaac leave, so he swallows it.

“Ellie go down okay?” he wonders.

“Yeah, she’s good. Tired from all the excitement even with a cupcake in her,” Isaac answers.  “Are you?”

“Oh, yeah--I’m fine,” Stiles lies, rising from the bed and worrying at the photo in his hands as he walks toward the dresser to stow it back in it’s rightful place in the folds of his wallet.  

“You’re not,” Isaac counters, “but if you want to pretend like you are, we can,” he offers.

Stiles doesn’t answer right away, but he pauses before he tucks the picture away.  

“It’s dumb,” Stiles dismisses, “selfish,” he adds.

“So?” Isaac replies.  “Tell me anyway.”

Stiles turns, facing Isaac to get a better read on how Isaac _really_ feels about the prospect of talking through Stiles’ thoughts before bed.  They haven’t exactly been the ideal specimen of healthy communication the past week or so---or _ever_ really.  They just manage to hammer out the inevitable details from time to time.

“What is it?” Isaac persists, eyes intense and earnest as they meet Stiles’.  

“This is my favorite picture of my mom,” Stiles replies finally, crossing back to the bed.  “Even though I’m not in it.  Just--it’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her in a picture.  It’s the kind of smile I remember always being on her face, but she was usually the one who was _taking_ the pictures so there aren’t as many of her like this as I wish there was.”

Isaac scoots up to lean back against the headboard, and Stiles joins him on top of the covers.  Isaac takes the worn photo Stiles offers, studying it before he looks up to state the obvious.

“Their wedding day,” he says.

Stiles nods, tears already threatening in his eyes at the thought of even breaching this subject.  It seems so petty somehow, but he can’t shake the melancholy of it.  Isaac hands the photo back, and Stiles stares at the scene he’s studied more times than he can count: Mom and Dad laughing joyously as the hurry to their car after the reception.  Rice is raining down all around them, their hands are clasped tightly, and they’re looking at each other like nothing else in the world matters.  So much of the spirit of their marriage is in the picture.  

_And now Dad’s going to recreate it with someone else._

“I’m glad he’s marrying Melissa,” Stiles says honestly.  “They’re great for each other, and she’s been like a mom to me for pretty much my whole life.  I can’t think of anyone I’d rather Dad marry.  I _know_ Mom would want him to find someone and be happy.  I just,” he stops as his voice falters, leaving the words unspoken.

“It still kinda sucks,” Isaac finishes simply.  “I get it.”

“I don’t,” Stiles huffs.  “I shouldn’t be anything but supportive.  God knows he deserves to have something this awesome happen.”

“Sure he deserves awesome stuff,” Isaac agrees, “but marrying someone new is still a reminder that your mom is gone.  It’s not so horrible that you wish things didn’t have to be like this; it’s not dumb; it’s definitely not selfish,” he finishes, contradicting Stiles’ earlier claims.  

“Wow, three whole sentences about feelings and not a single flinch; I knew there was a heart in there somewhere,” Stiles teases, deflecting with humor before he can rein in the impulse.  “I mean--that was--”

Isaac shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, you were being awesome, and I ruined it,” Stiles counters, reaching to lace his fingers through Isaac’s.  

“Bet I could get your mind off it for a while,” Isaac says with a smirk.  

Stiles’ first thought is of the scene after their date, and how wonderful it would be to bliss out and end the night as the little spoon.  Immediately banishing the warm scene is the horrible awkwardness that followed after the shower the next morning.  

“You don’t wanna,” Isaac assumes, face visibly transforming into the emotionless mask that Stiles _loathes._ “That’s cool.”

“No, no, I _do_ ,” Stiles protests.  “I just--I’m not--it wouldn’t be any good for you tonight,” Stiles tries to explain. “I’m not--not in the mood for anything--I’m just--it wouldn’t be good for you.”

“ _You_ are the one that needs the distracting,” Isaac reminds.  “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but that’s--that’s kinda how it went after the date, but then I’m--I can’t,” he cuts off the words, embarrassed to say it out loud.

_What the hell, it’s not like he doesn’t fucking know already._

“I was awful at the whole reciprocation thing, and I don’t wanna go 2 and 0 with this, and just--it’s really tempting and sweet and _goddammit_ you’re being too nice.”

At first Isaac just stares, and Stiles is _painfully_ aware of his scattered, semi-insane declaration.  He still can’t read Isaac’s face, but he’s on the verge of just bailing and going to his own bed for the night when Isaac’s stoic facade crumbles and he starts to chuckle quietly.  

“Don’t _laugh_ at me, you asshole,” Stiles protests.

“First I’m too nice; now I’m an asshole?”

“Yes.”

            “Stiles--”

            “Just--forget I said anything.  My head’s all over the place tonight.  You can’t hold me responsible for my ridiculous word vomit.”

            “Okay.”

            “Okay?”

            “Sure.”

            “Of course; king of not wanting to talk about it.  Sex is easier, right?”

Isaac just shrugs in reply, not refuting the presumption.    Instead he leans over slowly, giving Stiles ample time to pull away if he wanted.  Stiles leans in, closing the distance more quickly, and relishes the tender kiss Isaac plants on his lips.  

“Except it’s _not_ ,” Stiles protests, mustering the willpower to pull away after a moment or two more.  “It’s _not_ that simple with us, at least not as simple as I thought it would be and--and I--”

“Stiles,” Isaac interjects, stopping the gush of uncertainty.

“Yeah?”

“You know how--with the scar thing? This is like that, okay? So just--”

“What? You mean don’t ask you questions right now?”

“Right, don’t think about it,” Isaac replies, “just--we’ll see what happens? Have a little fun; relax,” Isaac proposes.

“God, that would be _awesome,_ but--”

“Turn off the upstairs brain for a bit, Stilinski,” Isaac says, coming in for another kiss as he trails his hands down Stiles’ arms to take his hands.

“But don’t you want…” the words fade out as Isaac climbs over him with a calm smile and kisses his lips just once before pulling away, putting Stiles’ hands on his hips as he sits on Stiles’ abs.

“You know what I want?”

It’s a hell of a question.

“Not really,” Stiles swallows and looks up to the headboard in red-hot embarrassment.

“I want,” Isaac begins before he laughs lightly, trailing his fingertips down Stiles’ chest before distracting himself. “I thought so.”

“Thought what?” Stiles manages. His dick’s making a valiant effort below Isaac to get hard, and he’s literally never had trouble with this before.

“Look at that blush, all the way down,” Isaac’s voice is nothing but pure sex, and he rests one hand over Stiles’ racing heart and leans down to almost completely cover Stiles. “That all for me?” he whispers into Stiles’ neck, and usually Stiles would feel close to blowing his load at this point, but it feels different this time.

 _It’s only for you_ Stiles yells in his mind, but only manages a shiver in return. If he opens his mouth he’s bound to say something stupid. The hand over his heart migrates swiftly to the left, pinching his nipple just enough to make him writhe, like Isaac somehow magically knows that its one of Stiles’ favorite places to play around with when he’s getting himself off.

“I asked you a question,” Isaac’s voice drips into Stiles’ ear as he pushes up off Stiles just enough so they can both see his hand, how it’s circling slowly, driving Stiles absolutely crazy.

He doesn’t answer until he can’t take the teasing anymore and unclenches one of his hands from Isaac’s boxers to grab roughly at his hair, making Isaac whimper and follow his hand down to his shoulder.

“All for you,” Stiles says, and he’s surprised to hear how confident he sounds. He’s rewarded with a bite to the collarbone at the same time that Isaac runs his fingernails over the same nipple and he shakes, an ‘ugh _fuck_ ’ escaping him despite his wishes. His hand in Isaac’s hair slips to his shoulder until Stiles is holding Isaac to him, opening his legs as Isaac slides comfortably between them as he continues to lightly bite his way across Stiles’ chest.

“ _God,_ I wanna to fuck you,” Isaac breathes when he finishes liking and biting his way across both of Stiles’ nipples, leaving him a sweaty, incoherent mess.

“Wha..” Stiles muffles, having covered his eyes with the back of his arm halfway through the most erotic thing of his life.

“Uh nevermind,” Isaac says quickly, sounding distinctly more coherent as Stiles uncovers his face to see Isaac almost right in front of his face.

“I just, I mean,” Stiles splutters out, not fast enough as Isaac’s face shuts down, his eyes widening into that ‘I don’t give a shit either way’ face that makes Stiles want to rip and break things.

“Fuck me then,” Isaac decides with a half smile, his eyes hooded as he grinds his hips into Stiles, clearly expecting Stiles to say something in return, but Stiles feels like he’s just had a bucket of cockroaches dumped all over him. Isaac reaches behind Stiles’ shoulders so fast he can’t protest until Isaac’s turning them, their positions completely switched.

Isaac smiles up at him and takes Stiles’ hands again, resting them over his collarbone, pressing Stiles’ hands down into Isaac’s own skin as encouragement.

“Give me a matching set,” he demands, and doesn’t seem upset by it at all, somehow hyper turned on. Stiles hasn’t seen Isaac’s back to know whether or not he left scars, but raking his fingernails down Isaac’s front sounds like the worst kind of torture possible right now.

He lays over Isaac instead, only feeling worse when Isaac’s rock hard cock presses into his thigh. Stiles lazily drags the tips of his fingers down the sides of Isaac’s ribs, earning him a huff of laughter despite everything.

“Sorry, Isaac.”

“Sorry for what, babe?” Isaac brings his hand up to Stiles’ hair, pets through it a few times.

“I can’t right now.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean, I really can’t…” This whole thing is so mortifying Stiles buries his face into Isaac’s shoulder and turns them on their sides so they’re facing each other. He pulls the hand out of his hair and moves Isaac’s hand down, Isaac’s gaze following along Stiles’ body until he sees the completely limp dick still neatly confined in Stiles’ boxer-briefs.

“Oh,” Isaac says, and it sounds like the worst kind of dismissal Stiles has ever heard.

“Like I said, I’m so sorry, I just can’t- not tonight-”

“I’m not gonna make you fuck me, Stiles, it was only a suggestion.”

“I know,” Stiles says to Isaac’s chest because he can’t bear to look into disappointed eyes.

Isaac tilts his head up and leaves a soft kiss on his lips as he pulls Stiles into him, throwing a leg over Stiles’ thigh, bringing them closer without any pressure.

“Tonight sucked. I’m so sorry. And you’re still hard, did you want me to-” Isaac cuts him off with another kiss.

 

***********************************************

 

**“I want this to work,” Stiles says breathlessly between their languid kisses.  “I do--but I think my libido maybe has a bit of a learning curve to--”**

**“Stiles,” Isaac interrupts.  “It’s _really_ okay.  Honestly, I would be okay if this” Isaac entangles his free hand with Stiles and squeezes it, “is all we ever did.” Stiles looks with him as he trails his eyes down their intertwined limbs.**

**“As long as you just stay.”**

**He finishes quietly as Stiles tucks himself into the embrace, sniffing quietly. A few minutes later Isaac feels little drops land on his chest to see Stiles silently crying. Good. He needs to let it out.**

**“It’s okay to miss your mom. I miss mine all the time.” Stiles nods and presses even further into Isaac.**

**“God, I’m crying; we didn’t even have sex; How lame am I?”**

**“Not lame at all.”**

**Isaac isn’t surprised at all to find that he means every word of it down to his fucked up soul.**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, we did some work on the pinterest boards. You can find what we have so far at: http://www.pinterest.com/vagueshadows


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, loves. School is killing our writing schedule :(

            “Hey, how was work?” Stiles wonders as Isaac walks in the door.  

            He looks more exhausted than usual, which almost makes Stiles second guess his plan for the evening.  

            “Fine,” Isaac replies as always.  

            “You don’t look like it was fine.  Want to talk about it?” Stiles wonders.

“Just kind of a depressing day,” Isaac replies.  “Comes with the territory.”

He walks past Stiles and into the den where Ellie’s roaming in her walker.  He smiles when he sees her, moving to pick her up.  He tosses her up in the air to get her giggling.  It’s not long before he manages to shake off the worry of the day--at least as far as Stiles can tell--and settle on the couch with her in his lap.  Stiles takes a seat next to them, sticking his tongue out at Eloise until she mimics the face back at him.

“Your face is gonna stick that way,” Isaac teases.

“I live on the edge,” Stiles replies with a smirk.  “So, I had an idea for dinner.  I was thinking maybe the park? Been kind of a hectic week, you know what with the end-of-semester projects and the wedding right around the corner and everything. I just thought maybe we could kind of relax for a night?”

“Yeah, sure; sounds good,” Isaac agrees with a shrug.  “Want me to help you get it together?”

“I--uh--kind of did it already.  It’s ready whenever we are.”

“So what were you going to do if I didn’t want to go?”

“Have a romantic picnic in the park by myself?” Stiles supposes with a grin.  

“Romantic, huh?” Isaac wonders, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well--ya know--maybe.  Kind of.  Just--ya know.  If we want it to be.”

“You totally have a scene from some Nicholas Sparks movie in your head don’t you?”

“No,” Stiles lies.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“If you don’t want to, we can--”

“Sounds _great_ after the shitty day I had at work,” Isaac says.  “Thanks for getting it together.”

“I’ll grab the food if you get the munchkin out to the car,” Stiles offers.

            “On it,” Isaac agrees, rising from the couch with Ellie.  

 

************************************

 

            **Isaac kind of expected to hate Stiles’ romantic picnic idea.  He felt a bit embarrassed lumbering into the park with the giant cooler and big blanket and Ellie’s portable playpen.  This sort of tender, stereotypical storybook family outing isn’t really Isaac’s forte.  Of course, that’s the fantastic thing about life with Stiles.  He manages to knock off a lot of Isaac’s rough edges.  Maybe this won’t be such a mortifying rainbow-vomit date after all.**

**“Here?” Stiles wonders when they near the duck pond.**

**“Yeah, sure.”**

**They set up in the shade.  Ellie seems excited to be out and about, babbling incoherent toddler speak as she plays with the toys they brought.  Isaac smiles over at her as she plays and Stiles unpacks the cooler. El’s current favorite toy is the sparkly purple convertible with a glamorous pink teddy in the driver’s seat, and she’s mastered the “Vrrmmm vrmmm” sound effect. In fact, everything with wheels is now deserving of said sound effect, including every single parent who passes with a stroller.**

**“She keeps up that attitude, we’re going to have to reevaluate the “no stroller” position,” Stiles points out as he distributes the sandwiches he’s made and reaches in the cooler to add chips and then pickles to the array.**

**The “no stroller” plan originated in the same conversation as “we are never owning a minivan.”  It’s perhaps a bit ridiculous for them to worry about appearing masculine when they’re both entirely willing to perform whatever undignified task makes Eloise happy--from baby voices to peek-a-boo to silly faces.  Still, it seems _just_ a step too far into suburban parent mode for the two of them.  **

**Of course Eloise _has_ a stroller--one with pretty pink seat covers that match the diaper bag they also don’t use.   It’s packed back into its box in the nursery, a box that clearly shows it’s designed to expand into a two-child stroller when the time comes, which is nothing but salt on Isaac’s wounds really.  **

**_The kid they planned for--a little brother or sister Eloise is never going to have._ **

**Isaac sometimes wishes she had a sibling to grow up with; Cam had his flaws, but there’s nothing quite like having a brother to share life with--whatever kind of life it may be.  Then again, Isaac still feels like he’s drowning sometimes with just Eloise, much less if there were _two_ kids left behind when Cam and Cara died.  Of course, that doesn’t mean that Isaac wouldn’t want Eloise to have a sibling--well, cousin technically-- _eventually._ The way things have gone the past nine months, Isaac’s learning to “never say never.”  Regardless, the whole double-stroller potential is a solid reason to continue avoiding the stroller in favor of carrying Ellie around in his arms or on his shoulders.  **

**“Earth to Isaac,” Stiles’ voice says loudly.**

**“What? Sorry?”**

**“What’s on your mind?” Stiles wonders.  “You okay?”**

**“Yeah, just distracted,” Isaac replies.  “Sorry.  Tell me again?”**

**“I said maybe we could get one of those little wagon things like Scott and Allison bought Kit.  The cooler and blanket and everything would fit.  We could make park days like a regular thing, ya know? If we wanted to.”**

**“I like that idea.”**

**“Yeah?”**

 

**“Yeah.  She’s getting big enough to enjoy it.  Did you see they added a new set of toddler swings over at the playground?  Be good to get out of the house more this summer.”**

**“Speaking of the summer; we should take a look at the schedule we want.  I’ve got to register soon, but I kind of need to know how you want to plan your work hours and stuff.”**

**“Actually--uh--I was kind of going to talk to you about that.”**

**“Oh?” Stiles asks, and he seems just a little _too_ interested.**

**“What do you know?” Isaac wonders.**

**_And how the hell did you find out?_ **

**Stiles smiles, caught in his performance.  He pulls a postcard from his back pocket and offers it to Isaac. The text of the card wishes him the best of luck on his upcoming EMT certification exam and confirms his testing time and location.  Stiles is grinning at him like the fucking cheshire cat.**

**“It’s not that big of a deal,” Isaac dismisses.  “Just figured I should put those prep books I ordered to good use or whatever.”**

**“It is totally a big deal!” Stiles counters.**

**“That’s why you put this all together?” Isaac supposes with a gesture to the cooler.**

**“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t celebrate a big step like--”**

**Stiles’ eyes go wide as he comprehends what word just slipped from his lips.**

**_Boyfriend._ **

**_“What kind of boyfriend would I be...”_ **

**_But we said no labels.  No labels. No pressure.  No promises._ **

**_Just something casual to see how it all works out._ **

**_But he just said boyfriend._ **

**“I--uh--well--I mean not--not _boyfriend_ boyfriend,” Stiles stammers, clearly trying to backtrack.  “Just--ya know--like--ah, fuck,” he mutters, sighing as he runs a hand down his face.  **

**“Well, ‘guy I met at Target who ended up moving in and saving my ass who loves the hell out of my kid and has now ventured into some sort of early stage romantic relationship’ is kind of a mouthful,” Isaac allows with a smile, leaning over to kiss Stiles’ reddening forehead.**

**Stiles bites his lips as he wonders, “So I didn’t freak you out with that?”**

**Isaac shrugs.  “Not really worried about what we call it, dude.”**

**“Yeah, I just--I know that we agreed to take it all slow and kind of day by day and all.  I don’t want to jump the gun or anything.”**

**_You mean you don’t want it to spook me into shutting down.  I get it.  Fair thing to worry about.  Honestly I’m glad you’re worrying about it because maybe it means it’s not totally obvious that I’m irrevocably head over heels for you._ **

**“It’s seriously fine,” Isaac says.  “Better than fine. It’s good I think.  It’s been a few weeks and all--things are good.   Seems like a good enough title to put on it.”**

**Stiles grins at him, surging forward to bring his lips to Isaac’s.  One hand cradles Isaac’s cheek and the other runs through his hair to draw him in closer.  Isaac forces himself to break the kiss.**

**“We’re at the _park,_ Stiles,” Isaac points out.  “Ellie is sitting two feet from us.”**

**“Right--yeah,” Stiles says breathlessly.  “Whoops.” He settles for grabbing Isaac’s hand instead, smiling a bit bashfully.**

**“But you know, there’s always later,” Isaac suggests playfully.**

**“True.”**

**They actually haven’t fooled around all that much the past week or so.  They’re overdue, and yet honestly Isaac isn’t all that bothered.  Sure it’s less than he and Derek used to hook up, but everything in this relationship is essentially the inverse of what he had with Derek.  Sex was the main connection with Derek; it was the driving force of their interactions, and their friendship was just a bonus that came along with it.  With Stiles it’s about so much _more_ than the sex. There are a million little reasons that Isaac would want to be with Stiles even if they never slept together--granted he’s hoping they _do_ get around to more of that.  Still, he’s fine for now with the slow pace Stiles has set lately while he’s stressing over school and the wedding.  **

**“Hey, Ellie, you wanna feed the ducks?” Stiles wonders, grabbing the discarded crusts of his bread off his napkin.**

**“Quack! Quack!” she replies eagerly, pulling herself to standing on the bar of the portaplay.  “Up, ‘Tiles, up!” she demands.**

**“I’ll get her,” Isaac offers.  “Can’t miss out on the ducks at my own celebration dinner.”**

**“I really am proud of you, ya know,” Stiles says as Isaac lifts Ellie up and onto his shoulders.  “Not to sound like patronizing or anything.  I just mean--I’m glad you’re not settling for something you don’t love doing.”**

**“Yeah, well, I’ve still got to pass the test,” Isaac says as he turns from the blanket.**

**“You’re gonna pass it; I know you will.”**

**“Quack, Izzy!” Ellie announces as they near the pond and she spots a few ducks on the bank; she drums her hands on Isaac’s head in excitement. “Quack-quack!”**

**“Yeah, that’s right.  Quack-quack,” he affirms.  “You wanna feed ‘em?”**

**“Uh-huh.”**

**Stiles provides her with a crust and she hurls it with all her might judging by the way she shifts on Isaac’s shoulders.  She doesn’t quite get the distance she’s going for, and the bread lands right at Isaac’s feet; the ducks rush over to swarm them at the sign of food, and Stiles laughs as they quack insistently around Isaac’s legs.**

**Ellie giggles, and gleefully points out, “quack-quacks! quack-quacks!”**

**“I see,” Isaac says taking her down from his shoulder to hold on his hip instead; he wants to see her look as excited as she sounds.  “Lots of quack-quacks, huh?”**

**“‘Tiles, more!” she demands, reaching grabby hands out for Stiles and his stash of bread.**

**“Please,” Isaac reminds.**

**“More pwease,” she says dutifully, small hands still flexing in demand for the crusts.**

**“Here you go,” Stiles says, obliging her request with a piece in each hand; she throws them down in unison, giggling as the ducks gobble up every last crumb.  “More! More!”**

**They continue the cycle until all the bread is gone.  Ellie makes a minor fuss at finding out she has no more fodder for her feathered friends.  The ducks follow them back toward the picnic blanket for a while before giving up.  Ellie’s getting a bit sleepy, nuzzling into Isaac’s shoulder, so instead of putting her back in her portaplay Isaac lays down on the blanket with her on his chest.  Stiles lays down beside them, taking Isaac’s hand and lacing their fingers together.**

**“You two are unfairly adorable right now,” Stiles informs.  “She’s going to be out like a light in a second or two.”**

**“Do you need to get home for anything?” Isaac wonders.  “Much homework?”**

**“Not too bad tonight; we can stay here a while if we want.  It’s kind of awesome.”**

**“Yeah,” Isaac agrees.  “I had my doubts, but this is maybe the best date we’ve had.”**

**“Good because it’s cheap and doesn’t require a babysitter,” Stiles points out with a laugh.**

**“Calling me a cheap date?” Isaac scoffs, and Stiles just rolls his eyes in reply.  “We really should do this once a week or so.  It’s nice.”**

**“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, and the earnesty in his voice and gaze make Isaac wonder if he’s _just_ talking about the picnic or their lives as a whole.  “Glad you think so too.”**

 

*****************

 

            Isaac’s been wandering between the kitchen and the living room for the past twenty five minutes, his face carefully still.

            “Chill,” Stiles states to the house at large, since Isaac won’t stay in one spot and Stiles doesn’t want to expend the effort of caging Ellie in the playpen so he can physically put a stop to the restlessness.

            Isaac answers with another trip to the kitchen where the refrigerator door opens and closes as he checks on the dessert not for the first time since Stiles reminded him about five hours ago that dad and Melissa would be coming over to make sure all of the final travel plans are set before the wedding.

            “Why are you freaking out about this? You know my dad. You’ve known my dad for almost ten months. Melissa thinks you’re her long lost son. You go out to coffee with her. She calls you to bring her take-out when Scott’s busy with Kit.”

            The forks in the kitchen clink again when Isaac shuffles them over the frosted glass plates that Isaac dug out from the back of the cabinet above the fridge as if this is the most important planning session he’s ever had to prepare for. Although it shouldn’t be as much of a surprise that Isaac’s overwrought with the whole situation, considering Stiles took a glance at the emails in Isaac’s gmail as he was passing by the dining table a few days ago. Almost half of them are between Lydia and Allison, hashing out color, details, and pricing for the wedding.

            “You’ve done everything right,” Stiles keeps the sentiment carefully casual since Isaac has finally seen fit to settle himself in the armchair close to the couch.

            “I’m your boyfriend.” Isaac says, and the look on his face is not what Stiles would ever hope to accompany that statement.

            “You are…” Stiles trails off, trying desperately to make it sound more confident than inquisitive.

            “I’m the _boyfriend_ now.”

            _Oh._

“Isaac by now you must have noticed that they love Ellie so much that you’re basically stuck with us. Dad’s not going to march in here with a gun and read you the ‘because you’re dating my son’ restrictions.”

            “Have you told them yet though?”

            “No, but honestly I think they knew we were-- you know-- together and stuff before we knew.”

            Isaac nods and closes his eyes while he lets his hands rest on the arms of the chair, and even after living with him for so long, watching Isaac relax without worry is still one of the most satisfying things in his life.

 

*******************************************

            _In retrospect, pushing to let Ellie have the second slice was maybe a bad idea._

            They’re already developing a reputation for being the ‘mean’ one and the ‘nice’ one, and Stiles didn’t want to cement any further in her mind the idea that Stiles is always going to tell her no and ignore her distraught and irrational tears. Ellie is literally all over the place, laughing so much that it’s hard for the four of them to really talk about anything as they finish off the cake Isaac picked up from the French bakery.

            _Not just maybe a bad idea._

Melissa brought Ellie the popping lawnmower that Stiles and Scott had enjoyed when they were little and learning to walk. To say she’s overstimulated would be an understatement, the food, the noise, the new toy, and the appearance of the people she knows will give her whatever she wants has whipped her into a frenzy.

            It stops being funny the moment Isaac stands to collect the plates from the coffee table and Ellie runs full force for the back of Isaac’s leg.

            There’s only enough time to watch the whole thing in sickeningly slow motion, Dad and Melissa equally as helpless from their positions on the couch.

            Isaac drops the plates and forks when he loses balance from Ellie’s collision. Ellie keeps going, the plastic lawnmower skidding across the glass through Isaac’s legs as Ellie slides through with it.

            She comes to a stop on her butt next to the lawnmower a few feet away in a sea of shattered glass, and the whole room is completely frozen before Stiles feels the back of his jaw tighten like he’s about to throw up Isaac’s expensive french cake.

            Most of the time Ellie runs around in whatever clean item of clothing has lasted through the day, but since Melissa and Dad were coming over, Isaac insisted on a full outfit, pants and shoes involved. It’s a good thing too, because Ellie’s eyes widen with impending meltdown, and genuinely loses her shit when Isaac rushes at her hands that broke her fall causing at least three  cuts near her palms and wrist.

            The next ten seconds are the fastest Stiles has ever moved in his life, pulling the both of them into the kitchen and after what seems like two hours his parents show up in the kitchen.

            _When you’re hurt, everything gets fixed in the kitchen. They’ll get the glass out and stop the bleeding and and and_

            “Dad, she is _bleeding_!” Stiles shouts since the man _clearly_ isn’t paying attention to the catastrophe that surrounds him and is instead forcing Stiles to sit down by the refrigerator and put his head between his knees.  “We are taking her to the hospital _right now_!”

            “Stiles, it isn’t even deep enough to need stitches,” Melissa says as she pulls away the rag Isaac’s holding to Ellie’s hands.  “The palms are bleeders and there’s no glass stcuk in there, but it’s just the sting that’s making her upset. You’ve both fallen off bikes. It sucks but it gets better. She’ll be ok, I promise.”

            “But-but we should make sure right?” Isaac wonders.  “I mean--just in case? She’s still crying and--”

            “She’s crying because you two are losing your damn minds with worry,” Dad says as he wraps two ice cubes in kitchen rags and kisses Ellie’s forehead to distract her mid-wail.  She grabs on to the offered ice cubes and buries her head into Isaac’s neck to breathe shakily.

            “And as for being sure, I _am_ an ER nurse,” Melissa reminds with a smile.  “It’s kind of my job to decide when cuts need stitches.”

            “Oh, yeah, right,” Isaac replies, but his concerned eyes don’t leave Ellie’s sniffling face for a minute.  “I forgot.”

            “You're new parents; over-reactions to moments like this mean you’re doing things right,” she says kindly looking from Isaac to Stiles.  “But trust me.  A little neosporin, a band-aid or two, and some extra TLC for the night, she’ll be perfectly fine before you know it.”

 

*****************************************

 

            “ **You coming to bed tonight?” Stiles wonders from the doorway of the nursery.**

**“Just making sure she’s settled in before I leave,” Isaac replies quietly.**

**“Isaac, she’s been asleep for an hour.  If you’re going to sleep in here, I get it,” Stiles says.  “I’ll grab you a blanket, okay? You should still get some sleep.”**

**Isaac almost argues for Stiles not to bother, but he knows any claim that he’ll leave Ellie’s crib soon is a lie.  It’s completely unnecessary, and yet he can’t quiet the worry that’s still lingering from the episode earlier.  Stiles is gone only a second or two before he comes back.**

**“Actually, why don’t we just take her to bed with us?” Stiles suggests.  “I think we’ll both sleep a little better.”**

**“You sure?” Isaac wonders.**

**“Yeah; definitely.  Should’ve thought of it sooner.”**

**Isaac picks Eloise up gently, and she only stirs a bit, settling her head against his shoulder as he carries her down the hall.  She’s got her thumb in her mouth and her yellow bunny in her free hand; she couldn’t care less that he deposits her into the middle of the bed instead of back in her crib.  Isaac settles in on one side of her as Stiles takes his place on the other.  Honestly, Isaac isn’t sure he’s going to get any sleep with this arrangement either.  He just keeps watching the rise and fall of her little chest, listening to the sound of her breathing.**

**_God, kid, I don’t know what the hell I would do if anything ever happened to you._**

**** **“She’s okay,” Stiles says quietly.  “Melissa knows her stuff.  I think the whole thing scared us more than Ellie.”**

**Isaac nods.  “I know.”**

**“And it was a total accident, not like it was anyone’s fault,” Stiles adds.**

**“I know.”**

**“Then why do you still look so worried?” Stiles wonders, reaching over Ellie to brush his fingers over the crease in Isaac’s brow.**

**“Probably the same reason you do,” Isaac retorts.  “I know today wasn’t a big deal but--we’re barely getting our feet wet with the whole raising-a-kid thing.  She’s gonna get big enough to get into more trouble.  It’s only a matter of time before _something_ happens.  I mean kids are accident prone.  It’s a fact.  And--well--”**

**“What are we going to do when it _is_ something more serious,” Stiles finishes, “I know.  I’ve been dwelling on the same thing all day.  I guess I just kind of figured our big obstacles were making sure she was fed and clothed and happy and all that basic stuff.  It’s a full-time job on it’s own.  I never really thought about how bad things could actually be.  Then tonight I heard her start bawling and walked in to see blood and like--I swear to God my heart stopped.”**

**“Mine too.”**

**“And--uh--well, I’ve also been thinking.” Stiles drifts off from the end of the sentence and gently tugs away El’s bunny to replace it with his own fingers as he stares down at her. “You know, just--just for practical reasons and all--about what would’ve happened if we _did_ have to take her to the ER or something.”**

**“Yeah, me too,” Isaac admits.**

**_They know me too well there.  They know my family.  Rough and tumble and always in trouble.  I honestly don’t even know how many times I’ve been in that ER to get patched up.  It’d bring up questions I bet--probably a call to a social worker.  What then? We do everything right don’t we? But what if they decided to take her away anyhow?_**

**** **“Really?” Stiles says, sounding surprised.  “Good, because I wasn’t really sure how to bring it up, but if you’re worried about it to then it doesn’t seem so presumptuous of me to want to be her legal guardian.”**

**“Huh?”**

**“Oh, shit,” Stiles replies a little too loudly, and Ellie turns in her sleep.  “You _weren’t_ thinking that.  Well, uh---”**

**“No,” Isaac confirms, “but--ya know--it does make sense.”**

**“You think?” Stiles replies, smiling.**

**“Yeah, of course.  You should be able to look after her if she needed you to.”**

**_And if they ever take her from me, they’d give her to you.  No judge is going to declare the son of the sheriff unfit to look after a kid, right? Even if they made you take her to your Dad’s for a while, it would still be people she knows; people I trust; not some luck-of-the-draw deal with the foster system or something._**

**** **“Right,” Stiles agrees.  “And I mean--I totally know she’s _your_ niece and all, but she’s--I mean I think of her as--as kind of my kid too? At least--I mean I have her best interests and all, ya know? Like--I’m not--I don’t want to step on your toes with--”**

**“Stiles, stop talking,” Isaac interjects.  “I get what you’re saying.”**

**“Okay, good ‘cause I don’t want you to think I’m like over-stepping bounds here and all.  I just--”**

**“You showed up to help with her before you even knew me; you moved in to help me take care of her; you lost your mind as much as I did when she got hurt today.  You looked ready to tackle your own dad when he stepped in the way of your plan to get her to the hospital,” Isaac points out.  “You’ve been her guardian for a while now.  Makes sense to make it official.”**

**Stiles beams at the words and props up on one elbow to lean over Ellie and kiss Isaac soft and sweet.  Stiles’ eyes search slowly over Isaac’s face when their lips part, and Stiles’ soft grin spreads quickly ear to ear.**

**“Thank you.”**

**“I think maybe I’m the one who should be saying that,” Isaac says while he privately curses his probably very red face for betraying just how much he means it.**

**_I don’t believe much in divine intervention and all that, but that’s about the only way to explain how I got lucky enough to bump into you that day--to cross paths with a man willing to join me on this crazy, frustrating, fantastic journey of raising a kid.  You’re the best thing that could have happened to us, and I would fucking love to make it official._**

**** **“So I’ll talk to Allison tomorrow.  I bet she’ll know the kind of forms and stuff--and if we can do it on our own or need like a lawyer or something.  We’ll hash out all the details.”**

**“Sounds great.”**

**Ellie stirs again in her sleep, turning more to her side, curling in against Stiles’ chest to cuddle.  He tucks an arm around her as he smiles fondly.  Isaac’s heart feels so full he thinks he might burst, but he tries to keep the doofy look of adoration off his face.**

**“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Stiles supposes.**

**“Mmm,” Isaac agrees, reaching to pull the covers up around with three of them and tuck them in.  “Definitely.”**

**Isaac lays awake in the silence, still listening to the even rhythm of Ellie’s breathing.  He thinks Stiles might have drifted to sleep, until he breaks the quiet to murmur, “You know, I had no fucking idea what I was getting into, but I’m really glad you called me that night.”**

**“Yeah, me too,” Isaac agrees.**

**_More than I could ever tell you._ **

 

*******************************************

 

            **Stiles is quiet over breakfast, the kind of quiet that puts Isaac on edge, waiting for some inevitable blast wave.  Maybe it’s nothing.  Or maybe Stiles is pissed or hurt or--God forbid--leaving.  The fact that Stiles finally running out on him is _always_ on Isaac’s list of worries makes him feel pathetic and needy, but it’s not like he can help it.  It’s the one fell swoop it would take to shatter his life right now, and Isaac’s really been enjoying the couple-y, casual feel they’ve had going lately. **

**Stiles finally opens his mouth, drawing in a big breath as if to speak, and Ellie squalls from the nursery upstairs.  They push their chairs back from the table in unison even though they’re barely made it halfway through their somewhat traditional ‘it’s the weekend so we should have real breakfast food’ breakfast, but Isaac motions for Stiles to stay.**

**“I got her.”**

**“Okay.”**

 

*************************************

 

            Isaac leaves the room, and Stiles slumps forward onto the table after pushing aside Isaac’s scrambled eggs that are painfully over-salted.  He sighs in frustration, leaving his forehead against the cool, smooth wood as he tries to get his act together.

            _It’s just a couple questions.  That’s all.  Perfectly understandable, acceptable questions._

_In fact, they are really questions for his benefit.  Yes, mutual benefit is the goal, but the point is that he totally shouldn’t be annoyed or pissed that I want to ask questions so our sex life doesn’t suck.   That’s not aggravation; that’s being considerate.  A good boyfriend should totally---_

_Whoa, there, Stiles; no labels.  You agreed no labels. Not your boyfriend._

_But still, any good not-boyfriend should communicate this shit, right? Communication is key; I’m sure I read that in some cheesy ass girl magazine at Erica’s or someplace._

_Communicate._

_But sex is way easier than talking._

_Except I don’t know what he wants me to do during sex, and I don’t want to be a total spaz, and I really, really, really, don’t want to just be the pathetic total spaz who has to blindly follow in the footsteps of Derek Hale’s experienced, hot ass, scruffy, rebel-without-a-cause crazy sex.  If I’m going to avoid total embarrassment and disappointment to both of us I’ve got to have more information._

_My answer for everything. Information. Best weapon in the world._

_Other than maybe dazzling good looks and a gargantuan cock and washboard abs; those would be helpful here too._

_but no.  I’m skinny and fragile and sarcastic._

_Not exactly the description of a rough-sex sex machine._

_Fuck my life._

_What the hell am I going to say? I should just ask, right? Just get it out there.  If he laughs in my face, well then, first of all he’s an asshole, but at least I can say I tried right.  A for effort._

_Oh God._

_I’m such an idiot.  What is wrong with me?_

_Maybe I should just call Danny…._

 

*********************************************************

**Ellie settles herself eventually with one of several square cardboard books they keep in her crib. Isaac leaves her and catches a glimpse of her delicate page turning as he pulls the door mostly shut and turns towards the stairs.**

            **“Stiles?” Isaac says when he comes back downstairs to find him with his face planted in the kitchen table.  “Stiles!” he repeats, hurrying toward him when the first call gets no reaction.  Thankfully, before Isaac reaches him Stiles sits up to look at him.  “Are you okay?” Isaac wonders, unable to read the looks Stiles has fixed him with.  “What’s wrong?”**

**“How do you feel about biting?” Stiles blurts.**

**“Huh?”**

**“Or is it just like, the scratching kind of thing? And the hard kisses, and--slamming into walls kind of stuff maybe?” Stiles goes on.**

**“I--uh--yeah, sure,” Isaac stammers.**

**“What about--like--the whole bondage thing? Or like--chains or whips or--”**

**“ _What_ are you talking about?” Isaac interjects.  **

**He surveys the half-done breakfast and Stiles’ abandoned plate.**

**_I thought we were having breakfast, and now this?_ ** **_And please God don’t be serious about the idea of tying me up or whipping or something._**

**** **“I--uh--just--well--” Stiles answers, blushing crimson as he continues to stammer incoherently.**

**“ _Stiles_ ,” Isaac prods.  “ _What_ is going on?”**

**“Well, at this _particular_ moment I’m trying to figure out how to just sink into the ground and disappear,” he replies.  “Or ya know, just drop dead of embarrassment right here.  Maybe luck out and you’ll have a sudden onset of acute amnesia so that you don’t remember anything at all about what I just said.”**

**“Is this why you’ve been weird all morning? Questions about this stuff?”**

**“Well, I--uh--those weren’t exactly--they were much more sane, mature inquiries in my head,” Stiles replies.**

**“Okay, so-- _why_?”**

**“Seriously, can we just please forget this even happened? I shouldn’t’ve--I didn’t mean to--let’s just forget it,” Stiles says after a long pause, pushing his chair back from the table and retreating into the living room.**

**“Wait, are we not eating or, no--I mean--we can forget it if--if you want to, but you’ve been thinking about this all morning, so--it’s bothering you, right?” Isaac concludes, following Stiles’ retreating form toward the sofa.**

**“It’s fine.  No big deal.  Don’t worry about it, go back and eat it’s totally fine. I’m fine,” Stiles says as he sinks onto the couch and hides his face in his hands.**

**_Of course I’m going to worry about it.  Something’s wrong, and it’s not the emotional shit that I suck at; something’s wrong with the sex.  The part I thought I actually understood.  So this needs to be fixed or I’m gonna lose my fucking mind trying to figure out what I did wrong._**

**** **For just a moment, Isaac misses Derek’s brash directness, but he quickly dismisses the thought.  He’d rather figure Stiles out that just fuck Derek because it’s easy.**

**_Okay, so---asking about the biting and rough sex stuff, but he knows I’m cool with that.  He’s seen me after nights with Derek.  Next question was the bondage stuff--was he trying to lead into that? Is that it? And he got embarrassed?_**

**“Do you--did you--you want to--uh--” Isaac starts, but he can’t quite bring himself to put the offer out there; the idea of being tied up and totally powerless is too much, even with Stiles.  “I mean--I’m not--you can--uh--talk to me about anything, ya know?” he finishes finally and fights the urge to play with his hands to make himself feel less awkward, hoping that maybe Stiles will just open up and take over the conversation in a more coherent way if Isaac attempts to look at least a little open about the impending conversation.**

**_Throw me a bone dude.  Help me figure out what the hell it is you want._**

**** **“God, I must seem like such an idiot,” Stiles replies.  “I’m sorry I just blurted that I just--I don’t know how to--or what to--I don’t really _talk_ about sex.”**

**“A topic you _don’t_ talk about?” Isaac repeats, exaggerating the disbelief.  “Not possible.”**

**The words get a small smile on Stiles’ lips, but his brow is still creased with worry as he looks up at Isaac from his place on the couch.  Isaac plops down beside him, grabbing Stiles’ hand and lacing their fingers together.  He waits, hoping Stiles will find words in the silence.**

**“I have no fucking idea what to say now,” Stiles admits to Isaac while rolling his eyes at himself.**

**“Just tell me what you wanna try,” Isaac tells him, despite the fact that he’s a little terrified of the answer.  “What’re you thinking about?”**

**“Well, not what _I_ wanna try,” Stiles looks down as if he’s guilty for something, “I was actually trying to get a--uh--better idea of what _you_ go for,” he counters.**

**Isaac shrugs.  “I’m not that hard to please,” he answers casually, huffing a little bit of laughter. “Which you’ve seen firsthand a couple of times now.”**

**“No, but--but I just--I feel like I’m not--not on your--ya know--level.”**

**“Not on my level? How d’you mean?”**

**“Just--with--ya know--all that stuff,” he adds vaguely.  “That you like.”**

**“You mean the rough sex stuff you asked me about?”**

**“Yeah.”**

**“Stiles, do _you_ like that stuff?”**

**“I dunno--I mean yeah? I’ve never really, done a whole lot of it or anything.”**

**“No big deal,” Isaac assures.  “What _do_ you like? What’s your thing?”**

**“I dunno.”**

**“Come on, that’s no fair.  You know about me, but I got nothing on you.  What’re you best at? What do--”**

**“Nothing,” Stiles interjects, bitter tone in his voice unmistakable.  “I mean--uh--I just--I’m not exactly--” He’s blushing like crazy again, eyes darting to anything in the room except Isaac’s face.  Isaac resists the urge to lean over and kiss his flushed cheeks.  “Let’s just say my milkshake does _not_ bring all the boys to the yard,” Stiles finishes finally.**

**Isaac replays the last words in his head a couple of times before he bursts into uproarious laughter.  Stiles seems a little chagrined at the repose, but Isaac can’t stop, not even when his ribs start to ache and his eyes water.**

 

***********************************************

 

            Isaac laughs and laughs and _laughs_.  Stiles mostly just prays to be swallowed up by the earth.  Still, he can’t remember the last time he managed to get a full-body laugh like this out of Isaac.  The sparkle it puts in his eyes is almost endearing enough to make Stiles forget his embarrassment.  Almost.

            “Sorry, sorry,” Isaac says when he finally starts to quell his mirth.  “I’m not laughing _at_ you. I swear.  That’s just pretty much the _last_ thing in the world  I expected you to say.”

            “What can I say? I’m a master of deflecting with humor,” Stiles reminds.  “Can we--uh--maybe just call this conversation over before I manage to dig a hole any deeper?” he asks hopefully as he moves to stand.

            “No, dude, wait,” Isaac protests tugging Stiles back to sitting on the couch.  “Do you really think that?”

            “I _know_ that,” Stiles replies.

            _Every person who’s ever fucked me only did it out of pity.  Lydia. Danny. Heather. A couple more like Erica who found me drunk and miserable and took it upon themselves to cheer me up for the night._

_I’m a nice guy, sure.  I’m funny.  I’m pretty smart.  I’m not a total loser.  But I’m also not the guy who gets the girl--or the guy who gets the guy.  I’m not Batman; I’m totally Robin._

_Which sucks. But it kind of is what it is._

_No skills or preferences here._

_Just the near-virgin, vanilla, somebody-please-love-me kind of sex._

“Well, it’s bullshit,” Isaac informs.

            “You don’t have to say that,” Stiles replies.  “You’re being nice.”

            “I’m not nice,” Isaac replies simply.  “I’m an asshole, remember?” he teases.

            “Are not,” Stiles protests, regardless of how frequently that thought may cross his mind. “And you _are_ too nice to call me out on the fact that I have no fucking idea what to--”

            “You’re good at being focused,” Isaac interrupts.  

            “Yeah, right,” Stiles scoffs.  “I’m never focused.”

            “Not like--I mean maybe focused isn’t the right word, but--but _intense_ maybe? Like--like when you--” It seems it’s Isaac’s turn to feel a bit bashful, and he drops his eyes from Stiles’, bringing his free hand up to rub nervously at the back of his neck as he continues.  “when you look at me, it’s--I feel like I’m the _only_ thing in your world right then.  It’s--it’s good.”

“Really?” Stiles can’t help wondering, and he feels the corners of his mouth start to turn up in a small smile at Isaac’s praise.

“And--uh--when you--how you like, with your fingers,” Isaac goes on, “like it almost tickles or like--ya know--stroking almost.”

“Words really are not your strong suit,” Stiles points out with a grin, and Isaac rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Like this,” Isaac replies, leaning over to kiss Stiles, which has nothing to do with their hands, except then Isaac lets go of Stiles’ hand to bring both his up to the back of Stiles’ neck.  

He plays with the hair at the base of Stiles’ skull for a moment, almost tickling, and then runs his hands down Stiles’ back in one smooth motion before pushing underneath Stiles’ shirt and feeling his way back up again, fingers flitting lightly over Stiles’ skin.  He pulls away, leaving Stiles wanting more, and says a little breathlessly, “That.”

“Yeah, but--you’d really rather I did something more like,” Stiles replies, leaning in for his own demonstration, kissing Isaac hard on the mouth with a quick pace to contrast Isaac’s languid kiss.  He grips Isaac’s shoulders tight before raking his fingernails down Isaac’s back.  Isaac breaks the kiss, eyes wide as they meet Stiles’ again.  

“Oh,” Isaac says, comprehension seemingly dawning. “ _Oh._ ”

            “Yeah,” Stiles replies, “exactly.  My defaults aren’t really what you go for, so if you could--ya know--give me some pointers or something.  I really want this to be good, but I’ve got _no_ fucking idea what to--”

            “But I wouldn’t rather you do that,” Isaac interjects.

            There’s absolutely no mistaking the earnesty in Isaac’s face as he shares what he seems to think is a simple fact. Stiles jaw drops at the words.

            _Did I hear that right?_

            “Huh?”

            “Well, I--I like both.”

            “But you like it _better_ rough.”

            “Don’t put words in my mouth,” Isaac protests, furrowing his brow in annoyance.  “I didn’t say that.”

            “But it’s true, right?” Stiles pushes.

            “Maybe? I don’t know.”

            “How do you not know?” Stiles asks, incredulous.

            “It’s--complicated.”

            “It’s actually just a yes or no question.”

            “It’s not that simple,” Isaac maintains.  “I mean--I don’t know what I mean,” he finishes, rising from the couch, and Stiles recognizes all too well the sight of Isaac starting to close up again, face overly stoic when his eyes meet Stiles’ again.  “It’s just not that big of a deal,” Isaac says.  “We’re good.  You’re good.  Don’t worry about it.”

            He leans down for a quick kiss, softening his demeanor again for just a moment.  Stiles catches Isaac’s hand as he straightens back up.

            “I just want to understand, Isaac.  It’s what I do; I gather information so I can figure out how to tackle stuff, ya know? You can tell me whatever, and whatever you like is totally cool.  I’m not trying to judge you or--or change your mind.  I just--wanna figure it all out.  I wanna figure _us_ out.”

            “We’re fine, Stiles.”

            “Don’t do that.  Don’t dismiss it.  It was a pretty good talk--albeit also awkward but--but it was good.  Don’t walk out on it, Isaac.”

            He knows he probably sounds needy and pathetic, but he doesn’t care.  He wants this careful mask off Isaac’s face so they can get back to the place of “this” and “that” Stiles thought was really gonna get them somewhere.  The sound of Eloise fussing upstairs interrupts the moment, and Stiles knows the conversation really is done now.  

            “Duty calls,” Isaac points out.

            “Yeah, I know,” Stiles replies with a sigh, dropping his gaze from Isaac’s.

            Isaac surprises him by bending for another quick kiss, lingering in Stiles’ space even after their lips part.  

            “Does it help if I say your milkshake at least brings, _this_ guy to the yard?” he wonders with a smirk.

            Stiles can’t help but smile back.  “Doesn’t hurt,” he concedes.

            “Bring it up again later if you really wanna talk about it that much,” Isaac tells him.  “But I swear we’re really okay.”

            _We might be ‘okay,’_ Stiles agrees silently as Isaac goes upstairs to get Ellie.   _But I want us to be more than ‘okay’.  I was this to be fucking awesome._

 

*************************************

 

            **By lunch Stiles seems to be his usual self, not as distracted as he was before this morning’s conversation.  Isaac assumes it means they’ve had enough discussion for the time being, especially when he walks in the bedroom that night after putting Ellie down to find Stiles in his pants from earlier on the edge of the bed sporting his best bedroom eyes, as if he abandoned the plan to get fully undressed when he heard Isaac’s footsteps coming down the hall. Isaac completely understands the eagerness behind it and he smiles as he shuts the door behind him and strips off his shirt as he crosses the room.  He slips his hand behind Stiles’ head, threading his fingers through Stiles’ hair as he tilts his face up into the kiss.  Stiles sets a languid pace that Isaac follows, mindful of Stiles’ earlier uncertainty that he was performing well at stuff like this.**

**_If he had any idea what he does to me...he’d never doubt it._**

**** **“So before--before we--get going,” Stiles says breathlessly as their lips part.  “I had kind of an idea.”**

**“Uh-oh,” Isaac replies, rolling his eyes as he sits next to Stiles on the bed;  he tries to ignore the knot of apprehension in his gut as he asks, “What idea?”**

**“That--uh--we could do a little more demonstrating,” Stiles elaborates.  “Like maybe--maybe you can show me what you like best and--and I can do what you say if--if it’s stuff you can’t do yourself and--and does that make sense? Would that--could you be into that? Maybe?”**

**“Stiles, I told you there’s nothing to fix.  I like everything you’ve done so far.  If that changes, I’ll tell you, but--”**

**“Isaac, _please_.  I know you like rough sex.  I’ve seen what--what you looked like after…”**

**“Stiles--”**

**“I’m not sure--I mean I _want_ to give it a try for you, but--but you gotta meet me halfway because I am kind of freaking the hell out over here,” he finishes a bit frantically, shattering any semblance of the simple, easy rhythm they were finding just moments before.  **

**“I don’t expect you to--to do anything for me,” Isaac replies.  “I told you I like _both._ ”**

**“But you like rough _better_.”**

**“I never said that, dammit!” Isaac barks back, and Stiles wilts at his anger before his face twists into an angry frown that Isaac meets with a hasty apology,  “I didn’t mean to--to shout, I just--I didn’t do anything to make you think that--that I’m not happy, did I?”**

**“Not exactly, but you didn’t answer the question this morning either,” Stiles hesitates.  “I feel like I’m flying blind half the time and, I told you this morning.  I like having as much information as I can--”**

**“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Isaac interjects. He moves to pull his legs all the way onto the bed and begins pulling off his shoes to distract himself from the next sentence that escapes his lips.  “Other than that I _am_ happy with us, and you _don’t_ have to worry about anything.”**

**“Then this is the last time I’ll ask,” Stiles says, and turns to face him with a sincere expression.  “You like what we do well enough, but do you like it _better_ rough?”**

**Isaac opens his mouth to answer.  It should be a simple question, but it’s not.  Despite every intention of providing Stiles with the “no” he wants to hear, the word catches in Isaac’s throat.  Instead he moves off the bed and picks up his discarded shoes, wishing that the journey to the closet would take longer than the usual ten seconds.**

**“Isaac?” Stiles asks the back of Isaac’s head quietly but not meekly, and Isaac gets the sense that no matter how much Isaac would like to never think about this, Stiles isn’t going to drop it without explanation on Isaac’s part.**

**“I don’t know.”**

**“Of course you know. It’s a simple enough question.  Whatever your answer is, I don’t--”**

**“But it’s _not_ that simple.” Isaac tries to keep the frustration out of his voice as he turns away from the closet to regard Stiles on the bed. The vision immediately saps all the heat from his anger, and leaves only cold terror in its wake.**

**_Why can’t I just say “no” like he wants to hear? Whatever I say, I bet I fuck this up. I fuck everything up eventually._ **

**“Okay, why not?” Stiles wonders, brow furrowing as he no doubt tries to read Isaac’s face.  “I know that face, Isaac. Don’t shut down on me. Don’t freak. Just--just be honest. Please? Why isn’t it a simple question for you?”**

**“Because I never--I never--Derek was the only person I ever--ya know--had like a long-term thing with, and--and we were--I don’t know if I like it rough just because--because it was his thing and I was good with it, or if--if it really is _my_ thing too--or if--I dunno--I just don’t,” Isaac finishes, honestly as Stiles requested.  **

**_I don’t know if I convinced myself I was into it because that was what it took to keep him around and happy or if it’s something I would’ve figured out I liked anyway.  I don’t know how much of being with Derek was just trying to fill a void and how much was genuine.  I used to think it was all so simple, but I’m starting to realize I just wanted to pretend it all was._ **

**_Because sex is easier than talking..._ **

 

*************************************

 

            Stiles almost doesn’t dare breathe in the face of Isaac’s confession, staying quiet as Isaac  climbs back onto the bed.  It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever been about what his relationship with Derek was like, and Stiles doesn’t want to ruin it.  Isaac looks down at his hands when he finishes talking, twisting them nervously.  Stiles reaches over to wrap his hands over Isaac’s, stopping the movement.  

            “That makes sense,” Stiles says finally.

            Isaac huffs a skeptical laugh when he settles next to Stiles near the headboard.  “Not even sure I managed a full sentence. Just me running off at the mouth like an idiot.”

            “No, it was good; it was exactly what I was trying to figure out,” Stiles replies.  “I mean, a start anyway. I thought--I was kind of worried that--that I wasn’t gonna--” he stops, realizing how pathetic he must sound, but it seems Isaac’s guessed where he was headed.

“The first time we went to bed together, you said you weren’t sure you could be like Derek,” Isaac reminds. “I told you you weren’t competing with him.”

“Yeah, I remember, but--I just--I don’t want us to be ‘okay.’ Whatever we are, I want us to be _more_ than just ‘okay’.”

“We already are,” Isaac replies simply and reaches to run one set of fingers over the side of his neck and down to his shoulder.  “Aren’t we?”

            Stiles’ jaw drops before he can rein in the reaction.  Isaac reacts visibly, eyes widening in something akin to panic as he backtracks and pulls his hand away.

            “I mean--uh--just ya know, it’s--we’re--just happy, right? I didn’t mean that--”

            “Pretty sure I’m the happiest I’ve been in my whole life, Isaac,” Stiles confesses, eager to reciprocate the sentiment and ease Isaac’s apprehension.  

            The smile that lights up Isaac’s face at the words is absolutely priceless.  “Yeah?”

            “Yeah,” Stiles confirms.  “I just want us to _stay_ happy.”

            “We will,” Isaac assures, leaning over for a quick kiss but lingering in Stiles’ space after.  He quirks up an eyebrow, “so what was that about sex with me calling the shots?” he wonders.  “Because _that_ could be an _excellent_ boost to the happiness.”

            He smirks at Stiles, eyes dancing at the prospect.  

 

*******************************************

 

            **A thrill runs through Isaac at the idea of Stiles so easily handing over control, and he hopes fervently that Stiles wasn’t joking.**

**“Yeah, I thought you could--ya know--show me what you like,” Stiles says hopefully.**

**“So you just want a free show,” Isaac teases, more than a little self-conscious at the thought.**

**“Something like that,” Stiles replies, bringing his lips to Isaac’s.**

**“Okay, then.”**

**“Okay?”**

**“I’ll give it a shot anyway,” Isaac says, “and--uh--next time _I_ want to get the free show from _you_. Deal?”**

**“Hell yeah.”**

**Isaac can’t help but grin at the eagerness in Stiles’ eyes.  He slides up on the bed, unbuttoning his jeans as he goes.  Stiles moves to the armchair in the corner, relaxing back into the plush green cushions as Isaac slides off his jeans.  For just a moment, Isaac thinks back to the few occasions he and Derek did something like this.  The differences are endless, but most notably that instead of Derek’s wild, hungry gaze, Stiles is looking at Isaac like he’s the only person in the world, with the kind of adoration that’s so intense it’s a bit intimidating.  Stiles isn’t going to be giving the orders; he wants to learn what Isaac wants.  The whole situation makes Isaac feel a bit giddy.**

**“Gonna make me wait all night?” Stiles wonders.**

**“Maybe,” Isaac replies with a smirk.**

**But a leaden feeling starts to build in his gut as Stiles continues to watch, and he realizes that this isn’t _entirely_ different from the times with Derek.  Maybe Stiles isn’t going to call the shots, but that makes this more difficult, not easier.  **

**_What kind of show does he want exactly? What’s too much? What’s going to freak him out or turn him off or just bore him?_**

**_What am I supposed to do?_ **

 

***************************************

 

            The sight of Isaac naked on the bed is making Stiles _seriously_ question how he thought he could just sit here and _watch_ without getting to touch.  He’s blushing, red flush of it spreading all over his body.  Stiles can’t help but notice how Isaac’s eyes linger on his scars when he looks down at his own body.  For the millionth time he wishes there was some way to take away the years of pain Isaac endured.  

            “Well, you already know this,” Isaac starts, eyes locking with Stiles’ from across the room, “but your hands are fucking amazing,” he goes on, fingers flitting over the skin of his chest abdomen as he talks.  “Like--like you’re trying to memorize everything or something, or like I’m a fucking instrument you’re trying to play.”

            “I do get some pretty great sounds out of you,” Stiles teases before he can quiet the smartass reply.  

            Isaac sits up at that, but doesn’t make eye contact like Stiles was expecting. Instead he runs his hands through his hair, eyes fluttering shut. It fucking sucks being this far away from him, because Stiles would love to feel Isaac’s breathing get faster, run his own fingers over the reddening cheeks across the room.

            “D’you- uh, do you like that?” Stiles manages, lacing his shaking hands behind his own hot neck to keep himself from doing something stupid. It’s also sadistically fun to feel his body respond to the fucking incredible man and see how long he can hold out before he ends up grinding into the chair’s cushions to get himself off.

            “Mmmm,” Isaac answers quietly.

            _God, he really doesn’t understand how to talk to people, does he?_

"Your hair," Stiles clarifies. "You like it when I just play with your hair?" Talking helps distract him from the impossible-to-ignore tightness of his jeans, and suddenly becomes transfixed with Isaac’s own cock.

            There really hasn’t been enough time to fully appreciate just how beautiful Isaac is. And beautiful does feel like the right word as Isaac’s hand snakes down his chest to hold tight to his dick, leaving his other hand to pull at what at first appears to be his ear until Stiles realizes he’s got his fingers tangled in his own curls, his head thrown back.

            “You love it, don’t you?”

            The hushed question sounds more like a confession to Isaac than anything else as Isaac’s chest shudders along with his breath, and he nods. His hand slips back down to his neck, almost pulling on it as he looks down at his own hard dick, smiling to himself as he runs just the tips of his fingers over his shaft before suddenly rubbing right below his slit, laughing to himself a bit as he hunches with the feeling.

           

************************************

 

**Stiles seems receptive enough to everything so far.  If Isaac’s honest with himself, he hasn’t taken the time to enjoy getting himself off in a long time. It used to be Derek, and for a while any number of people in dark bars that would fill this need. Then Stiles came along and it was just quick, frustrated moments in the shower to keep the edge off.  Until the impossible happened and Stiles actually decided to give Isaac a shot.**

**_Assuming I don’t fuck it up._ **

**“Christ,” Stiles hisses and Isaac straightens at that, smiles over at him before really acting into the next jerk of his fist with a grin that couldn’t communicate any louder _get your ass over here._**

**_Come show me what you want me to do, Stiles,_ ** **he thinks desperately, keeping the worry off his face with a cocky grin instead as he responds to Stiles’ curse with, “Call me Isaac,” but he can’t keep the eye contact before embarrassment overwhelms him, and he can’t help feeling like he’s fifteen all over again, in bed with Cora as she rolls her eyes and tells him to stop being a smartass and just fuck her.**

**Stiles tries to snort, but it turns into what Isaac hopes is an appreciative groan. There’s a lot Isaac could do to get Stiles to come over to the bed with him, and he’s eager to relieve the pressure of making whatever display Stiles expects from him.  Still, the thought of pushing Stiles more and drawing this out to _wreck_ Stiles is insanely tempting as well.**

**“Stiles,” Isaac says, voice low and sultry, trying to make it sound like he knows what he’s doing, but the fact of the matter is that he’s now officially out of his depth, considering Derek would have already had at least one finger shoved up Isaac’s ass and kissing him silent.**

**“Yeah, what?”**

**“Don’t you-” Isaac cuts himself off with a groan as he drops his free hand to steady himself by the end of the bed, the change in angle making him feel almost predatory. “Don’t you think you’re wearing way too much clothing for this?”**

**Stiles nods frantically, his hands still laced behind his neck and Isaac takes time to let his eyes trace over Stiles’ reclined body, his right foot tapping against the carpet with his legs splayed wide.**

**“Tapping your foot doesn’t seem to be helping?” Isaac asks, all mock innocence as he lets go of his heavy cock, sitting back on his thighs to wonder if he can get Stiles to break.**

**_Maybe if he’s still over there, still not calling the shots, maybe this is what he was hoping for? Maybe voyeuring is a thing of his? I should keep going like this? I do all the work?_ **

**“I think,” Isaac says as he stands from the bed and walks towards Stiles in what he hopes is a confident stride. Stiles licks his lips and stares up at Isaac from under those thick lashes and Isaac’s stomach twists like he’s on the best roller coaster ride of his life. “We should get rid of these,” Isaac’s voice is surprisingly low to his ears, when he pulls the front belt loops of Stiles’ khaki pants forward enough to make Stiles release his hands.**

**Stiles doesn’t move towards giving Isaac a handjob or anything for that matter, but instead grabs Isaac’s wrists on his pants, Stiles’ clammy hands shaking while he tries to squirm as far back into the chair as possible.**

**“Mmm, mm-mm,” Stiles chastises, panting.  “Don’t even try it.”**

**Isaac feels as though he’s been doused in ice water to hear Stiles’ disapproval of the move.**

**_Fuck, fuck, fuck. Backtrack, Isaac. Come on. Think!_ **

**“‘s my show, Isaac,” Stiles goes on with a smirk, cutting across Isaac’s panic.**

**_Okay, okay. Still good. I was right about him wanting it drawn out, wanting to watch.  I can do that.  I can totally work with that.  We’re still good._ **

**He lets go of one hand and almost reaches to run his index finger through the single drip of precome on Isaac’s dick that’s been the result of Isaac’s fooling around.**

**_You could make this so much better though_ ** **Isaac whines in his head when Stiles shakes his head again and instead reaches to palm himself over the dark tan wet spot that’s formed on his own pants.**

**“Go back to the bed, Isaac,” Stiles bids.  “Show me what you want,” Stiles sounds so excited and curious it’s almost enough to drown out the swooping insecurity the sentiment brings.**

**“Okay,” Isaac agrees, moving back to the bed and splaying his legs.  He strokes himself and locks eyes with Stiles for a moment or two before diverting his gaze as he murmurs, “but you know it’s not exactly _my_ hands that I want.”**

 

***********************************************

 

“What?” Stiles asks, his hand freezing over his own dick, the pleasant wave of arousal that he was riding just thirty seconds ago turning into a tidal wave, his face suddenly on fire from Isaac’s soft confession.

            _I just want to make sure I’m not going crazy, that you really said--wait, wait, no, this is about him. About learning Isaac.  Keep it in your pants a bit longer, Stiles.  This is about Isaac._

“I’d _rather_ have your hands on me,” Isaac says again, just as soft but bolder the second time around, like he believes he could get Stiles to do it if he really tried.

            _Oh god if he only knew just how fucking gone I am on him._

            “But if it’s a show you want,” Isaac goes on, reaching toward the nightstand.  “It’s a show you get.”

            Stiles honest to God nealy comes from the promise alone.

 

************************

 

            **Isaac hears the gasp that escapes Stiles as he takes the lube from the nightstand drawer.  It’s a reassuring sound; he’s on the right track it seems.  He drizzles the cool liquid over his fingers without thought to any mess that he might be making.  He lays back on the bed again, spreading his legs wide.**

**“Are you--you’re--yeah,” Stiles babbles. “ _Damn_ , Isaac,” he whines as Isaac circles his hole with one slick finger.  “Oh my God.”**

**“Like what you see?” Isaac wonders, hoping it doesn’t sound too much like _This is what you want, right? This is what you had in mind?_**

**** **Stiles nods so frantically it’s kind of hilarious.  Isaac can’t believe he hasn’t given up on voyeurism yet; this might just be the most patience he’s ever seen in Stiles.  Isaac takes a deep breath, willing his muscles to relax as he slips the first finger inside himself, throwing his head back as he does so, stroking his erection and reveling in the pleasure-pain of the moment.**

**“Fuck, Isaac,” Stiles curses from his place across the room.  “Oh, God.”**

**_Wish it was you,_ Isaac thinks to himself. _Would you get the fuck over here already?_**

**** **But instead he adds a second finger, working in an out as he adds exaggerated groans to entice Stiles further.  “Like this,” Isaac says, remembering this is supposed to be grown-up show and tell.  “One at a time, filling me up ‘til--”**

**“Oh, fuck,” Stiles all but wails, and the moan that escapes him distracts Isaac from the task at hand and he raises his head to look at Stiles.**

**Stiles is flushing a shade of crimson and looks like he wants to melt into the floor.  Isaac can’t help but grin with a bit of pride at the tell-tale stain on Stiles’ pants.**

 

**************************************

 

Like he’s got no more control than a horny teenager, Stiles just came in his pants in front of Isaac.

            Again.

            And he kind of wants to die, except that the glint of pride in Isaac’s gaze is almost worth it.   _Almost_.

            “Oh, God, that was--I don’t--I didn’t even-- _fuck_ ,” Stiles curses, and Isaac’s grin widens.

            “Bravo?” Isaac suggests with a raised eyebrow.  “Encore? those the kind of words you’re looking for?” he teases. He moves as if he intends to get up and just go find sweatpants, done now that Stiles is taken care of.

            “ _Fuck_ , yeah, but--well--” Stiles says with a gesture to his ruined pants as he tries his best to restrain himself from curling up in embarrassment.  “Clearly don’t have the stamina I thought.”

            Isaac doesn’t immediately stop, but after another moment of running his fingers around his hole he sits up, abandoning the glorious display he’d been creating for Stiles.

            “No, don’t--don’t stop on account of me,” Stiles says, “I mean--I--uh--you want--want some help with that?” he wonders finally, with a vague nod toward Isaac’s waning erection.  “Or--uh--something?”

            Isaac chuckles a little and shrugs.  “It’s fine,” he says. He rubs his fingers over the shorter scars on his thigh absentmindedly before shaking himself out of the contemplation and smiling up at Stiles.  “I’ll just get cleaned up,” he decides, standing.

            Stiles rises and steps into Isaac’s path, invading his space as he bids him, “Wait.”

            “Yeah?” Isaac replies, a little breathless, and the lust still burning in his eyes is undeniable.  

            “Did you mean what you said?” Stiles wonders. “About wishing it was my hands?”

            “Of course I meant it,” Isaac replies.  “Why wouldn’t I?”

            It’s all the encouragement Stiles needs to crash his lips against Isaac, sweeping his tongue into Isaac’s mouth to deepen it as he runs his hands up into Isaac’s hair. Isaac moves backwards until he hits the bed and then they tumble onto it together.  Stiles’ heart races as Isaac’s hands grab at his sides, pulling him down closer as Isaac ruts his erection against Stiles’ hip.  Stiles swallows his groans with a kiss, until one of Isaac’s hands leaves Stiles’ body to grope blindly to the side and return to press the bottle of lube against Stiles’ bare chest.

            If it were possible, Stiles would probably be coming in his pants again.  Because Isaac fucking Lahey, the gorgeous greek god, bad-boy, baby whisperer, broken but beautiful man that has no reason at all to settle for someone like Stiles is apparently asking Stiles to fuck him.

            _Oh. My. God. Yes. Yes. Yes. YEs!_

“Please?” Isaac murmurs in Stiles’ ear when he doesn’t immediately take the proffered bottle.

            “Yeah,” Stiles agrees quickly, with a bit of a squeak in his voice that is perhaps a bit less manly than he would like in a moment such as this.  “Fuck, yeah,” he repeats, reaching to take it from Isaac.

 

**************************

 

            **Isaac lays back as Stiles breaks away, rising to his knees on the bed as he turns the cap on the lube bottle.  He reaches up for a pillow to prop under his ass, and when he turns back to Stiles he can see the excitement has started to wane considerably.**

**_fuck! no!_**

**** **“Isaac, I--uh--I”**

**_Can’t do this...don’t want this...don’t want you...never did..._ Isaac’s mind mentally completes for him in the beat of silence that follows.**

**“You know that whole thing about--about not being on your level?” Stiles says.  “I’ve never actually--like--topped for a guy,” he finishes with a grimace.**

**The burst of laughter that escapes Isaac is probably one of the worst reactions he could have, and Stiles wilts at the sound of it, ducking his head as he blushes.  Isaac reaches for him as he tries to recover.**

**“Sorry, sorry, I swear I’m not laughing at you, Stiles; I fucking swear,” Isaac assures as he sits up.**

**“No, it’s pretty pathetic,” Stiles replies.  “I’m like twenty years old, and I’ve only ever been with--”**

**Isaac silences him with a kiss, soft and sweet.**

**“You’re not pathetic, Stiles.”**

**_If anyone is, it’s me._ **

**“I just--don’t want you to think--I mean--”**

**“I really wasn’t laughing at you.  I promise.  I just--I was ready to hear something _way_ worse than that or something.  It being your first time on top is something we can totally roll with.   It’s not rocket science,” Isaac says simply, “C’mon, Stiles,” he urges.  “Take all the time you want. Fucking _wreck_ me.”   **

**Instead of the hungry glint of arousal Isaac was hoping to spark, Stiles’ eyes widen in apprehension.**

**“Not like that,” Isaac replies quickly hoping Stiles hears the _Not like Derek_ Isaac means by the words _._ “I mean--like--until I’m losing my goddamn mind. Ya know?”**

**“Oh,” Stiles says, voice gruff with the arousal Isaac was looking for.**

**“I haven’t ever taken it slow like that--it’s always--” Isaac hesitates, not sure how to explain it.**

**_It’s always been rushed, instinctive, physical.  Never about the other person and the implications this had on us.  It was just satisfying a need.  Forgetting my god-awful life in a haze of lust for a little while.  It never came close to meaning half as much as this does._ **

**_No one’s ever come close to you, Stiles._ **

**_No one’s ever going to._ **

**“It’s always been different,” Isaac finishes vaguely.  “We’re on the same level with this. New ground all around.”**

**“Yeah?”**

**“Yeah,” Isaac says.  “And lose your pants,” he adds.**

**“Does it matter at this point?” Stiles wonders, huffing laughter at himself as he looks down.**

**“I said _wreck_ me, Stiles,” Isaac replies, “however long it takes,” he adds simply, and the way Stiles’ eyes alight with desire is _finally_ the response he was hoping for.  **

 

*************************************************************

 

Isaac is maybe the most relaxed Stiles has ever seen him as he lays back on the bed, tucking a pillow under his ass for support and grinning happily as Stiles moves to kneel at the foot of the bed.

            Isaac’s words replay in his head, _I haven’t ever taken it slow like that…_

It is pretty difficult to imagine Isaac sharing a moment like this with Derek.  Of course he’s not sure if that’s because he’s seen the aftermath of Derek or because Stiles’ perception is clouded by his infatuation--no, it’s more than that--he’s fucking head over heels for the man before him.  As much as his nerves try to get in the way, Stiles is determined to worship every fucking inch of Isaac.  He pulls from memories with Danny--the meager two hook-ups of experience he has to draw on, and hopes fervently that he doesn’t fuck this up.

 

**********************************************

 

            **Stiles is hesitant at first, and Isaac can tell he’s nervous.  It makes him want to smile; it makes him feel special somehow, to get to share this moment that Stiles clearly feels is so momentous.  It _is_ momentous of course, for Isaac.  It just never really occurred to him that Stiles might see it that same way--even if for different reasons. Stiles reaches for Isaac a couple of times, unsure where he should start, and Isaac in a moment of fondness that only ever seems to wash over him when Stiles is around, pulls him straight down and winds up half way hugging him. **

**“Don’t overthink it, you’ve already seen a demonstration,” Isaac lets the happiness of the memory bleed into his voice, and Stiles nods into his neck before dragging his lips down his neck. Everything is beyond warm, and Isaac feels like he’s run ten miles, his leg muscles twitching with heated unrest as Stiles makes his way further from the position Isaac had pulled them into.**

**Stiles takes his time, stroking Isaac’s erection and finding particular fascination with his foreskin. They’ve never talked about it because neither of them would be able to bring it up outside sex, but before Isaac can put more thought into it, Stiles moves on to fondling his balls, getting him completely hard again before finally trailing fingers down to his hole, pressing lightly against it at first, getting a gasp from Isaac.  He circles, like Isaac did himself, before pressing a finger inside Isaac, watching his hand intently.  Isaac closes his eyes at the feeling and the look in Stiles’ eyes, breathing deep to will his body to relax against the intrusion as Stiles pulls out and presses back in again, taking his time as Isaac requested.**

**He’s suddenly got a whole new sense of sympathy for Stiles’ plight in having to watch Isaac without coming, and he tries to distract himself by pulling his knee up to run along Stiles’ ribcage, interrupting his laser focus.  He wants to wait until Stiles is inside him, but he doesn't have a whole hell of a lot of practice in patience, not really.  Sure Derek used to make him wait, but never for long.  Neither of them had the willpower or real desire for that.**

**But Stiles is different than Derek, so _gloriously_ different, wrecking Isaac in a whole new way.  He fists his hands in the sheets, arching off the bed as Stiles kisses up his thighs with a coy smile as he grabs Isaac’s knee and pushes it up further, holding it there with enough intention that Isaac doesn’t try to move again. Stiles traces his tongue along the underside of Isaac’s leaking cock while his free hand wanders over every inch of Isaac he can reach, mimicking the feather-light touches Isaac confessed to loving so much.  Isaac’s not sure how much more of the tender, languid stimulation he can take and releases the bedsheets only to run them through his own hair to try and hide the jitters Stiles’ ministrations are bringing out, and yet he doesn’t really want it to ever stop.  Stiles is taking him apart until Isaac feels bare and exposed and vulnerable and so fucking _empty_ even though Stiles has three fingers in him now because he needs**

**“ _More,”_ Isaac moans, and Stiles adds a fourth finger, fucking Isaac so slowly he’s losing his mind, rutting back against Stiles’ hand as he tries to quicken the pace.  “God, _Stiles,_ please,” Isaac says.  “Fuck me.  If you--you need me to--”**

**“Patience is a virtue, you know,” Stiles replies, removing his hand altogether, and Isaac can hear the smile in his voice though he can’t see it with his eyes closed tight.**

**“Stiles, _please_ ,” Isaac answers, way beyond the point of pride and more than willing to beg, plead, suck or whatever else will get Stiles off enough to be ready again. **

**He’s about to admit as much, opening his eyes to continue his pleas, but then he feels Stiles rock hard dick pressing against him.**

**“Oh, _fuck_ yes,” Isaac pants eagerly, opening his eyes to drink in the sight of Stiles looming over him with a magnificent blend of lust and adoration shining in his eyes, one arm braced to the side, the other holding his cock as he starts to push in. “Quick,” Isaac tells him breathlessly, “Not slow, not anymore, please? I’m so fucking close already and--”**

**The rest of the sentence devolves into a moan as Stiles obliges, thrusting in deep in one quick motion.  The guttural groan that escapes Stiles reveals that Isaac isn’t the only one close to coming.**

**“Fuck, Isaac, you’re so fucking tight I’m gonna--”**

**“Move, Stiles,” Isaac bids, almost frantic to get more friction before Stiles manages to come _twice_ before Isaac. “C’mon!”**

**Stiles pulls back and thrusts deep again, pace far from the leisurely foreplay.  Isaac’s not even sure the words of encouragement leaving his lips are even English anymore, he’s a blissed-out, blubbering mess under Stiles and his entire being is consumed with the need to have Stiles in every way possible right now.  Isaac holds Stiles to him, trying to speed up the pace, make it _harder_ and _God_ Isaac would demand it if there wasn’t this nervous flutter in his chest telling him to let Stiles figure it out. He reaches up and pull Stiles’ face to his, sealing their lips together in a kiss.  Stiles’ pace only quickens and he moves one hand from its place by Isaac’s ribcage to pull down on Isaac’s shoulders, nails biting into the skin as Stiles fucking _rolls_ his hips and drags his stomach through the leaking mess that is Isaac’s cock, and Isaac cries out in ecstasy when he finds the _perfect_ angle.**

**“There, oh, fuck, Stiles, _yes!”_ And Isaac can feel himself go rigid with the pleasure, finding the best part of the whole thing is Stiles’ whimper when Isaac brings his leg around one of Stiles’, stilling his movements. **

**“So fucking close, Isaac; c’mon, come with me,” Stiles practically begs, voice cracking as he keeps the angle and thrusts again and again until Isaac comes with a shout that Stiles swallows with a kiss, his face scrunching at the restricted movement as his last few thrusts are deep and quick.  Their lips part for breath and seconds later Stiles cries Isaac’s name as he orgasms, followed by a string of appreciative curses that Isaac has to smile at. Stiles practically collapses on top of Isaac when he’s done, smearing the mess Isaac’s made between them, but Isaac could not possibly care less.  Stiles rolls to the side, panting and smiles over at Isaac.**

**“Everything you wanted?” he wonders breathlessly.**

**“You’reeverythingI’ve _ever_ wanted,” Isaac answers as he turns to Stiles and draws him back to his chest, running his hands lightly down Stiles’ sweaty spine. The confession is through his lips before he can stop the words or realize the catastrophic effect they might have.**

 

*****************************************************

 

            Stiles is pretty sure the postcoital bliss emotions of the best sex he’s ever had in his life just caused him to hallucinate. No way did Isaac just say something that intimate and honest like it was the simplest statement he’s ever made in his life.  

            “I just---” Isaac stammers, blissed-out expression giving way to panic. “I just mean--”

            “Ditto,” Stiles interrupts.  

            “You don’t have to--”

            “I’m serious.  I meant what I said before--about being the happiest I’ve been in my whole life.”

            Isaac doesn’t reply immediately, just looks into Stiles’ eyes like he’s trying to stare down into his fucking soul or something.  Stiles isn’t sure if that means he maybe should have toned back the sentiment or something, until Isaac smiles at him--not just smiles, fucking _beams_ at him.  And under Isaac’s adoring gaze Stiles understands what Isaac was talking about earlier--about feeling like you’re the only person in the world.  It’s maybe the most perfect moment Stiles has ever experienced.  

 

******************************************************

 

            **Maybe it was the endorphins talking.  Maybe it was just because the sex was fucking fantastic.  Maybe it’s because Stiles looks unfairly beautiful lying beside Isaac all sweaty and spent and sated.  Maybe it’s a million other things that could explain the crazy thought in Isaac’s head, but, whatever the reason, there’s one terrifying, wonderful, and utterly absurd thought dominating Isaac’s mind right now.**

**_God, I hope he marries me._**

 

*******************************************

 

**Isaac snaps his laptop shut after reading the email and closes his eyes to appreciate the stillness in the house. Almost immediately that appreciation turns to unease, because Ellie and Stiles are almost always moving around.**

**The scrape of the dining room chair on the floor as he pushes it back underneath the table wakes him up a little from the droziness of studying and wedding business. He finds Stiles curled around the edge of the couch with his headphones on, clearly asleep. It was nice of Lydia and Melissa to pick a wedding date a few weeks after finals, but Stiles is still exhausted.**

**_And it’s not just post-finals stuff._**

**** **“Stiles,” Isaac nudges his shoulder back until he starts just a bit, blinking around the room before a soft smile steals over his face. The sun’s been down for almost an hour and he must be confused since Isaac promised to wake him up after a quick nap.**

**“Hey, why’re you standing there?” Stiles manages, looking adorably petulant as he pulls Isaac’s hand from his shoulder. “You could be on the couch with me. Sleeping. Sleep is good.”**

**Ellie’s been on a screaming rampage the past eight days, sapping any nice energy that might have been present in the house and replacing it with frayed nerves. Now that Stiles is home all day, he’s been getting the brunt of it, and Isaac feels more than a little guilty. Ellie’s technically his. He should be doing more. He should be here for her more often-**

**“Stop with that face.”**

**“What face?”**

**“The ‘I’m having feelings but I don’t want Stiles to know’ face,” Stiles snaps, and then scrubs his palm over his eyes slowly as Isaac sighs and plops down on the couch.**

**“I’m sorry,” Isaac says because what else is there to say? Stiles is right. It seems like he’s always right.**

**“Don’t be sorry,” Stiles sounds like a five year old being forced to apologise before he squashes himself up against Isaac, and just like usual, the familiar action makes Isaac melt. “Tell me what’s wrong.”**

**“You passed out.”**

**“What?!” Stiles draws back, confused.**

**_God Isaac just say what you actually mean._ **

**“You- Ellie’s been a nightmare and after dinner you just- you’ve been asleep for two hours, Stiles.”**

**“I just finished finals. Ellie’s a scream machine right now but she’s not sick or anything. Sorry I skipped out on dishes.”**

**“It’s not just that.” Stiles draws back at that statement, surprised that Isaac would expound on anything. And usually he would be right, but the wedding is coming up fast and Isaac’s worried. “You’re sleeping a lot. Or just- you know- in your room alone. And I get it if you want space and-”**

**“Hey,” Stiles interrupts him, snuggling up under Isaac’s arm. “Thanks for worrying, but I’m fine. Really.” He tacks a smile on the end that falls just a little too quickly.**

**“Do you just- not want to- I think it’s the wedding. I think you’re nervous.” Isaac lays his head on top of Stiles’. This is supposed to be the new communicating thing. No one can say he isn’t trying, ok?**

**Stiles remains silent, which Isaac has come to realize is just as much an answer from him as when he can’t stop the words for the life of him.**

**“Lydia sent us some songs from the wedding playlist,” Isaac suggests, hoping it might prompt Stiles into talking, but the only reaction Isaac gets is Stiles’ head nodding on his shoulder, and Stiles taking Isaac’s hand, running his fingers over the little scars and imperfections as he fixates on it.**

**Usually, Isaac doesn’t mind, and usually it feels nice. But this is like pulling god damned teeth, and not for the first time in the last couple of weeks, Isaac realises just how patient Stiles has been with _him._**

**Isaac twists his hand quickly but not cruelly, capturing Stiles’ fingers and quickly drawing them up off the couch, leading Stiles around the stairs as he complains.**

**“What the fuck, Isaac, it was nice just relaxing on the couch,” Stiles sounds too exhausted to care about the argument, so Isaac ignores it in favor of opening up his computer again and clicking the link in Lydia’s email as slow and comforting swing begins to fill the lower level of the house.**

**“You’re aware that all this noise is going to wake up Ellie and we’ll _both_ be miserable.”**

**“You’re aware that we’re in the wedding party and therefore required to dance in front of people you care about at some point, right?”**

**Stiles rolls his eyes as Isaac yanks him forward, almost crashing them together, keeping their intertwined hands between them before grabbing Stiles’ spare arm and placing it on Isaac’s lower back. Isaac didn’t expect Stiles to be anything other than a pissed-off, stiff board at this point, and he puts his own hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, guiding it to his shoulder. He decides to leave his fingers playing with the collar of Stiles’ t-shirt since the action seems to loosen him up.**

**“Are you happy now?” Stiles grumbles into Isaac’s collarbone and Isaac finds every ounce of strength he can possibly possess right now to resist smacking the back of Stiles’ head.**

**“Fucking ecstatic, I can’t wait to dance just like this in front of a bunch of people,” Isaac bites back, and that’s apparently one step too close to Stiles’ sarcasm that Isaac can feel Stiles surrender to the position, his arm tightening around Isaac’s back and squeezing his fingers.**

**It isn’t the kind of practiced dancing that Lydia has set her hopes on, but they move, a little bit. They’re both waiting for the other one to say something, but Isaac’s determined to get this fight done and over with before they’re stuck in a nine hour car ride together in just a few days.**

**The first song fades out and the next song begins quietly, with soft intentions and no vocals this time.**

**“I haven’t been to a wedding since I was thirteen.”**

**That’s- well, actually that’s not surprising really. Isaac would probably have said the same if he wasn’t just at Cam’s wedding four years ago, petulant high school graduate that he was at the time. It was a good thing in the end that Cam made Derek the best man instead of his little brother. All the fun and forbidden alcohol of a wedding without too much responsibility.**

**“I think you’ll probably enjoy this one,” Isaac supposes, and Stiles draws his head away from it’s hiding place to look up at Isaac tentatively.**

**“What if I don’t, though? What if I’m the miserable asshole who ruins the mood?”**

**“I won’t let you. You’ll ruin my nice night.” Stiles does huff out a small laugh, and Isaac feels more accomplished than he has any right to be.**

**They put a little bit more effort into actually dancing along with the music, but Stiles is obviously way more interested in trying to distract Isaac from the actual concentration of the activity, rubbing his nose along Isaac’s jaw, letting his fingernails scratch against the edge of Isaac’s jeans as he pulls him tighter into the embrace.**

**Isaac makes a valiant effort to actually coordinate their steps, but since neither one of them decided who was leading what, they’ve meander-danced into the kitchen where Stiles has suddenly taken a great interest in leading. Isaac’s tailbone meets rather suddenly with the counter by the sink and Stiles uses the distraction on Isaac’s part to disentangle them to frame Isaac’s face, push his hair back from his forehead, a move that Stiles _knows_ will entice Isaac into almost anything.**

**_It’s not like we were getting all that far with the dancing anyways_ ** **Isaac surrenders, leans into Stiles to kiss him, fall into that amazing place he gets to with Stiles but is instead met with a question that carries an odd amount of seriousness.**

**“Was your last wedding Cam’s?”**

**_So no making out then._ **

**Strangely, Isaac isn’t as disappointed as he thought he would be. Stiles brushes his thumbs over Isaac’s cheekbones in waiting, and Isaac locks his fingers together behind Stiles’ back as he nods.**

**“Doesn’t that make you angry? Sad? Something? Don’t weddings make you feel- something? Do you not miss him? Your brother?”**

**This is certainly something Stiles hasn’t attempted to bring up before, and the fact that he’s touching what Isaac has mentally dubbed ‘the basement subjects’ must mean that Stiles is even more bothered by this whole thing than Isaac has observed.**

**Isaac sighs. “Of course.”**

**“Of course what? Of course weddings are disgusting or that you miss your brother?”**

**“Your dad’s wedding isn’t going to be gross, Stiles. What are you, thirteen?” Isaac gets nothing but an eyeroll in response.**

**“No, I don’t hate weddings because mostly they mean that people have found happiness. I was happy for Cam. I’m not happy he’s dead.” Stiles looks sufficiently chagrin as he lowers his hands to rest along Isaac’s shoulders, his gaze following them, but Isaac’s having a rare phenomenon of words-are-easier-than-sex, and the last time that happened the two of them figured out that they both liked hairpulling but didn’t love scratching super hard, so Isaac charges ahead slightly aroused by the memory and in hopes that what he has to say will be beneficial.**

**“I know it sounds horrible. But in a way I’m not as sad. Not anymore. I’m happy. I have Ellie,” Isaac pulls his interlocked fingers towards himself until Stiles is completely against the line of his body, forcing him to look up, his face carefully blank when he meets Isaac’s eyes. “I have you. I wouldn’t have either of you. Of course I miss him. But I can find reasons to be happy, you know?”**

**Stiles nods and tries to look away, but Isaac follows his gaze, craning his neck a bit.**

**“You could find a reason to be happy. About the wedding.”**

**“I am,” Stiles finally admits. “It’s ok that I’m a little bit excited about the whole thing, but that parts of it suck total ass.” It sounds like Stiles has been saying it in his mind for weeks and has finally found the courage to admit it.**

 

*********************************************

 

Isaac undoes his fingers to pull at the back hem of Stiles’ shirt as they share one of those quiet smiles that usually comes about when they catch each other staring.

“You pulling my shirt for some particular reason?”

Stiles must look visibly better to Isaac after the confession, especially since Isaac can bear the sarcastic foreplay that only Stiles can pull off. He’s getting better at it, not just trying to skip straight to the getting each other off.

“You know I am, asshole.”

“Ahh, but I’m your asshole.”

Stiles laughs and releases Isaac’s face to reach behind and pull his shirt off for Isaac. He doesn’t leave Isaac any time to appreciate the view up close before he steps three feet away, gesturing at Isaac.

“Don’t just _stand there_ ,” Stiles declares before almost skipping off to the living room, throwing a smile over his shoulder that means he knows Isaac will follow him.

_What’s the next level up from ‘completely whipped’? Ball and chain? Dog on a leash? Oh, God, ‘old married couple’? How does my mind keep wandering to that idea?  John and Melissa are the ones getting fucking married. Not us._

“Gonna make me get started all by myself?” Stiles calls.  “C’mon, Isaac.”

_I really am wrapped around his damn finger._

_And it doesn’t really bother me all that much._

Isaac follows him.

 

***************************************************************************

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging with us! At least this post is a long one? <3

_In retrospect, agreeing with Lydia’s plan to that Scott, Kit, Isaac, Stiles and Eloise ride ride down in a rented mini-van packed to the brim with extra wedding supplies was a horrible, no-good, very bad, plan._

_Not that he’ll ever inform Lydia of that opinion if he wants to keep all of his appendages._

Isaac starts looking a little pale about half an hour in, and Stiles hopes to God it’s just carsickness and not food poisoning when he shouts for Scott to pull over and Isaac barely gets the door open in time to vomit into the emergency lane.  The action has Ellie fussing, pulling her attention from _Finding Nemo_ on the van’s DVD player.  Stiles’ attempts to calm her only agitate her more.

“Izzy! Izzy!” she demands, reaching her arms out for Isaac.

“He can’t hold you right now, sweetheart; you have to stay in your car seat for the ride, okay?” Stiles reminds gently as Isaac washes his mouth out with water, cleans his face, and swaps seats with Stiles in hopes that the front seat will alleviate his nausea.

“No!” Ellie shouts in response, and it’s not long before Kit’s screaming too.

“Out! Out!” he orders.  

“No, Kit; you can’t get out right now.  Watch the movie.  You like the fishies, don’t you?” Stiles replies, tapping at the screen playing Finding Nemo.

“Don’t wanna watch fishies!”

“Well, tough, buddy,” Scott replies with a sigh.  “It’s another six hours to Oceanside.”

After another ten minutes of “Don’t wanna watch fishies!” Stiles swaps to a DVD of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, which manages to keep the kids occupied for a little while at least.  Until they have to pull over again for Isaac to puke, and it all starts over again.  They head to the nearest gas station to seek out some dramamine so he can spend the rest of the trip more or less unconscious.  Stiles recognizes that now is not the time to give tough-guy Lahey a hard time for being carsick, but he’s definitely not going to let him live it down.

Three noxious poopy diapers, one speeding ticket, and endless hours of toddler screams later, Stiles is wishing he’d taken some of that dramamine, too.  When they arrive at the hotel in the late afternoon that Lydia booked by the pier, they pile out of the van like they’ve just driven through hell, and are greeted with sympathetic-yet-amused looks from John and Melissa. Lydia flew down with Danny and Allison a few days before his dad and Melissa left to start getting things organized, and Stiles can see the two of them lounging in the hotel lobby through the glass doors by the front desk.  Stiles points a warning finger at his father.

“Not a word,” he orders while a bell boy pushes out the luggage trolley for their bags.

Dad of course ignores him and says, “Oh, but Lydia’s plan makes total sense, Dad.  Driving is going to be _so_ much easier than flying. It’ll be _great_.  Family road trips are probably going to happen _all_ the time anyway,” quoting Stiles’ own words back to him.   I really was a “ _total idiot”_ to suggest you fork out the money for plane tickets.”

“Hey, my logic was totally sound,” Stiles replies while he throws everyone’s bags on the red carpet of the trolley slowly rolling away from him.  “TSA searches with kids and screaming because their ears pop and it _would_ have been more expensive and--”

“Did Isaac get so miserable he knocked himself unconscious?” Dad interrupts as he cups his hands around his eyes to see through the tinted glass and Scott drowsily chases after the escaping luggage.  Isaac is curled up on the front seat still, slightly tangled in the seat belt.

“Dramamine,” Stiles replies.  “We should’ve dosed the kids up, too.”

“ _Stiles_!” Scott scoffs.

“Says the dad who was driving fifteen over the speed limit,” he retorts.

“In a desperate attempt to get us all out of that van as quickly as possible!” he points out.  “I was keeping up with the flow of traffic.”

“Remind me what the officer thought of that argument?”

“Whatever.”

“Okay, enough!” Melissa interjects.  “This is our wedding weekend, and we are going to be happy and excited and have a wonderful time if I have to strangle every last one of you to do it.”

“Right, Mom, of course.  Sorry,” Scott replies hurriedly.  “It’s just--”

“Road trip from hell, got it,” Melissa replies.  “Your payback for when you were a kid,” she adds with a smile when she gently slides the back door open to extract a floppy and soundly asleep Kit.  

“I was an angel,” Scott replies with a shit-eating grin as he smiles at his son from the trolley.

“Sure you were,” Stiles mutters, rolling his eyes.  

“You were just a bad influence,” Scott accuses.

Stiles waves the them on towards the lobby and they continue to give one another flack after they finish their unload of the van without letting last minute wedding supplies spill out. Stiles stays behind to extract Isaac from the van after his dad pulls out a soundly asleep Ellie and heads towards the lobby.

When the car door opens and Isaac stays exactly as asleep as Ellie was in the back seat, Stiles can’t help but watch him for a few seconds. He leans against the frame of the door where Isaac’s head rests and decides at the last minute that a shake might not be the best option, flashing back to the night Isaac was drunk and his natural reaction was to protect against someone trying to hit him.  

“Hey, we’re here,” Stiles murmurs into Isaac’s ear as he runs his hand down Isaac’s seat belt wrapped arm.

Isaac mumbles something and stirs just slightly, but he doesn’t wake completely.   Instead, Stiles decides to lean in a press a kiss to Isaac’s lips, grateful for the fact that Isaac bought mints in addition to the dramamine at the store.  

“Mmmm,” Isaac hums, and Stiles can feel a smile forming on Isaac’s lips.

“Time to get up,” Stiles says.

“Fivemoreminutes,” Isaac mumbles.

“Nope; we’re here.  Time to get out of the car.  C’mon.”

Stiles unbuckles Isaac who sits up, stretching and yawning widely.  He’s still bleary-eyed, and his hair is mussed up.  There are little indentations all over one side of Isaac’s face from where it’s been pressed into the seat for hours.  Stiles fights the urge to snap a blackmail picture with his phone.  Instead he takes Isaac’s hand and helps him out of the car, letting Isaac lean on him as he shuffles drowsily to the room with Stiles.  

“I can wake up if I hafta,” Isaac offers, rubbing his eyes as he sits down on the king-size bed in the center of the hotel room.  “Where’s El?”

As if on cue, Dad enters bringing her with him.

“She is _not_ a fan of being anywhere except wherever Izzy is,” Dad informs, and to back up his story Eloise is making grabby hands at Isaac from Dad’s arms.  “And _definitely_ not going to give in easily to an n-a-p,” he adds, spelling the word Eloise loathes most in the world.  

“C’mere, kiddo,” Isaac says, but before he can rise to his feet Dad brings Ellie to meet him by the bed.  Stiles can’t help but smile at hearing Dad’s term of endearment is rubbing off on Isaac.  “Izzy’s tired,” he informs.  “I gotta sleep a little while.”

“No,” she whines as he lays down on the bed and settles her down beside him.  “No!”

“You don’t have to sleep, but you gotta rest up so we can go to the beach tomorrow,” Stiles reminds.

Ellie just whines in reply, her little face scrunching at the idea of waiting for anything.

“Nope,” Stiles replies firmly.  “Gotta rest first.  C’mon.  I’m gonna rest a bit, too,” he adds.  

“See you kids in an hour or two for dinner,” Dad says, showing himself out.  “Unless they keep finding errands for me to run.”

“See ya.”

For all her protesting, it doesn’t take long for Eloise’s eyes to start drooping once Stiles is rubbing her back and humming ‘Hey Jude.’  Isaac is snoring softly on the other side of Ellie, and Stiles can feel his own eyes starting to droop too.  They left Beacon Hills before dawn this morning.  It’s been a long day, and it’s still only afternoon.  As Ellie drifts off to sleep, thumb in her mouth, she curls into Stiles, cuddling up to him the way she usually reserves just for Isaac when she’s sleeping in between the two of them.   From his spot on the bed, Stiles can see the fantastic view of the pier.  

Stiles has to admit Dad and Melissa picked a beautiful place for a wedding.  Judging by the relaxed, contented demeanor they share, they’ve enjoyed the time down here before the hullabaloo of the wedding starts.  Stiles is glad to see his dad happy, even if it is a bit bittersweet.

However hellish the ride down may have been, it’s nice that neither Mellissa nor Dad wanted the wedding back home in Beacon Hills, where there are little memories of Mom lurking all over town.  This place is _just_ for Dad and Melissa; a new place for a new beginning.  Stiles knows it’s going to be a rough couple days, but also pretty awesome ones, spent with all the people he cares about most in the world, including the two currently dozing beside him.  It’s not long before Stiles drifts off to sleep, too.

 

**********************************  

 

            **Isaac is more than relieved to be requested on babysitting duty their first full day of vacation, rather than thrown into the chaos of getting everything ready for tomorrow’s wedding.  Today is “transition day” according to the itinerary Lydia has provided everyone.  Basically it means lots of shopping, last minute decisions, and general hysteria on Lydia’s part that something might not be absolutely perfect as Allison follows her around with an iPad and a calming hand on Lydia’s shoulder.**

**Stiles and Scott join Isaac in the task of getting the pop-up tent set up, the chairs out, and the cooler settled in the sand about twenty minutes down the beach from the pier.  They’ve also got an inflatable kiddie pool to fill up with water and sit under the tent for the kids since they’re further away from the touristy area and in front of the Strand Street houses. The Martin’s beach house is another twenty minutes that they didn’t want to hike with all the gear and chatty toddlers, so they settle in close to what Lydia had informed them is a retired San Diego Charger Quarterback’s mansion. The beach this far down is pretty short, with massive boulders separating the road and houses from the sand.**

**Stiles doesn’t help much with the setup after he sees Kit making a run for the rock wall, and keeps hold of the two increasingly irritated children by their hands. By the time Scott and Isaac have cursed the popup tent into standing, Ellie is screaming at the top of her lungs and doing her best impression of a limp noodle, where she refuses to stand and does her best to flop on the ground and generally tries to get her way. Kit on the other hand is alternating between punching Stiles’ calf and pulling as hard as he can to get to the rocks. Stiles is frazzled to say the least, but gave up trying to distract the two of them about five minutes into the circus act and is now just sitting on the sand holding their hands tight with a tired smile while their children attempt escape.**

**“Patience of a saint,” Scott says with awe as he plucks Kit up mid-rage and takes him to the newly erected shade of the tent and beach chairs. Kit forgets all about the rocks the second Scott shows him the shovel and castle shaped bucket by the chairs.**

**Isaac turns back to see Stiles lift a whining Ellie into his arms as he stands, and she smacks his chest a few times while she scowls and wriggles. Usually they never let her tantrums get further than the first flop on the ground before someone picks her up and calms her down. Something holds Isaac back at one of the white metal tent poles to watch Stiles with Eloise, and the bottom of his stomach feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the perfect Southern California weather.**

**He’s thoroughly unprepared for the sight of two marines jogging past, distracting him from Ellie and Stiles.  He knew the base was nearby, but he hadn’t really thought about the fact that a base means soldiers, and soldiers mean reminders of Cam.  The happy feeling in his gut is twisting into something more akin to the feeling that follows a punch.  He watches the two soldiers as they continue on down the beach, wondering if the guy on the left really favors Cam or if Isaac’s memory is getting so spotty that he just _thinks_ the guy looks like his brother.  When he tears his eyes away to look back at Eloise, it doesn’t help alleviate the impending melancholy as much as he hoped.  **

**_What if Cam wasn’t dead? Would she still be calling me ‘Izzy’ for short and crying when I have to leave? Hell, I might not have even made it to her first birthday party.  I didn’t make it to see her in the hospital after she was born and I only met her that one time.  I wouldn’t know anything about her.  I wouldn't’ have any of this._**

**** **And suddenly it seems like Isaac’s _glad_ Cam’s gone.  He _isn’t_.  He’d give anything to have his brother back.  It’s just--the trajectory of his life changed completely with Camden’s death, and it turns out it changed for the better.  There’s just something really morbid in realizing that Cam’s demise is what spurred Isaac’s successes in so many ways.  he runs a hand down his face, breathing deep to try and keep the feelings of grief and guilt from overwhelming him. **

**_This trip is about John and Melissa.  Stiles needs me for this.  Stiles wants me here with him, and damn if I’m going to start losing over a couple jogging marines.  Now’s not the time for this bullshit._**

**** **Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cam’s phrase resurfaces, _Suck it up, Buttercup._**

**_I got this.  Just caught me off guard or whatever.  I’m fine.  Totally fine.  Fine and at the beach with my fucking adorable niece and my awesome boyfriend and we are happy and having fun.  It’s great. I’m great. Everything is fine._ **

**Stiles catches Ellie’s downturned eyes and raises his eyebrows at her, and her look of obstinate contrition is almost too cute to bear. She pats Stiles’ cheek and then waves her arm at the rocks, and Stiles nods at her. He takes a few steps over and crouches down with her in his arms so she can pat a big grey boulder as if to confirm its reality. Satisfied with her findings, she giggles and thunks her head into Stiles’ chest, but the little sunhat Lydia wisely insisted on catches him on the face, and he sputters a little before smiling and pulling his sunglasses out of his hair and putting them back on.**

**“It’s my duty to inform you that we have the cutest and possibly most spoiled child in the world,” Stiles imperiously tells Isaac as he walks past Isaac and under the tent.**

**“Don’t think I missed that thing with the hat,” Isaac jokes. He turns to follow Stiles as he heads towards the shore with her and puts his own aviators on.**

**Isaac has to almost grab the back of Stiles’ shirt to catch up with Stiles he’s walking so fast with Ellie. When he finally gets Stiles to stop and turn around, his face is all pink, despite the cool demeanor the Ray-Bans are supposed to give off.**

**“I wasn’t trying to make fun of you,” Isaac says in reaction to Stiles’ completely blank expression. The sunglasses don’t seem to be helping either of them.**

**“Sure, I mean, it’s whatever,” Stiles replies as he looks down to occupy Ellie’s hands from doing something other than trying to jam them into her mouth.**

**_Fuck._**

**“I think it’s adorable,” Isaac rushes out, and immediately wants to smack his forehead with the admission.**

**“ _Adorable_?” Stiles repeats dubiously.  “Great.”**

**“I just mean, not like--like _bad_ adorable, just--ya know like--endearing,” Isaac amends.  “Like another reason I think you’re kinda awesome or whatever.”**

**“Yeah?” Stiles leans back and keeps his face blank, but Isaac can _feel_ the way Stiles is challenging him to shove his foot further in his mouth.**

**A thousand ways to respond flash through his mind, but Isaac doesn’t see the point in ruining what could be such a nice future memory with another passive-aggressive fight.**

**“Yeah,” Isaac smiles even though it’s uncomfortable at first and he’s worried Stiles will know. Stiles’ tension disappears though and he breaks into a huge matching grin and leans over to kiss Isaac.**

**It still mesmerizes Isaac that something as simple as a smile from Stiles can relax him so completely.  Even just having Stiles sitting next to him, content, somehow puts Isaac’s mind at ease the way nothing else ever has, as though all is right with the world.  For moments here and there, Stiles makes all the horrible shit that’s happened over the years fade to background noise.  It makes Isaac feel like he can let his guard down--which is both exhilarating and terrifying.  He soaks in the experience of standing here on the water’s edge with Stiles, waves providing a soothing rhythm as they wash against the shore.  It’s the kind of moment he likes to memorize and replay when the world starts dumping shit on him.**

**“You wanna?” Stiles wonders with a nod toward the ocean, and Isaac shrugs his general acquiescence.**

**Isaac worries a bit about how Eloise will react to her first trip to the ocean.  Stiles accompanies him to the water’s edge, holding Isaac’s free hand in his own.  When the first wave washes up on their feet, Isaac clenches Stiles’ hand at the cold shock of it.  Stiles smiles over at him and Isaac returns the grin.**

**“Okay, Ellie, ready to get in the water?” Isaac wonders as he releases Stiles’ hand and puts her down between them, holding one of her little hands in his own as Stiles keeps hold the other.**

**The next waves washes up, covering her feet, and she shrieks at the chill of it, leaping over to hug Isaac’s leg.  He thinks they might be headed for a meltdown, but when he reaches to pick her up she pushes his hand away, holding more tightly to his leg. The next waves comes in and this time the shriek gives way to a delighted giggle.  By the time the fifth wave covers her chubby little feet, she’s gathered enough excitement and courage to let go of Isaac and take a couple shaky steps farther in.  She wobbles a bit, losing her balance and plopping down on her bottom in the shallow water.  She claps her hands joyously, apparently content to just sit and let the few inches of intersecting miniature waves come in around her for the foreseeable future.  Isaac takes a seat in the sand next to her, drinking in the wonderful sight of glee on her sweet little face while she fascinates herself with the sand underneath the water.  Stiles sits on the other side of Ellie, grinning at Isaac over her head and reaching behind her to grab Isaac’s hand. Moments like this the world seems so perfect he’s sure he must be dreaming.**

**_How in the world did I get this lucky?_**

 

*********************************************************

 

There’s no rehearsal for the wedding, Dad and Melissa have already met with the guy who’ll officiate the short service, but they still wanted to have the rehearsal dinner anyway.  Lydia’s booked the event room of the nice seafood restaurant on the end of the pier, and they all enjoy the sunset as they walk the length of it to make their reservation. They get a big table in the back room of the huge two story restaurant, and the lighting is warm and dark and inviting all at the same time. Everyone looks so happy and laid back, especially Isaac which is nice for a change.  There’s a little ruckus from the kids, which is to be expected since it’s pretty late for them anyways.  Mostly Stiles just can’t stop watching how Dad seems to be completely enamored with Melissa, eyes shining in the light of the ornate light fixture above the table.  There’s no doubting that he’s a man in love, and Stiles should be nothing but happy for him.

            Except all he can think is that he remembers Dad looking at Mom that way.

            “Hey,” Isaac says quietly, hand coming to rest on Stiles’ thigh under the table. “You okay?”

            “Yeah, great,” Stiles replies, forcing a smile as he turns to look at Isaac.  

            “You can blame it on me if you want to go,” Isaac says.  “I’ll say I’m still queasy from the ride down.”

            “See, it’s offers like that that make you the _best_ boyfriend,” Stiles informs.  “I’m really okay though--and Dad wants me here, ya know, so--”

“What’re you too whispering about?” Lydia demands, cutting in.  “If you are plotting pranks, Stiles Stilinski, I will _end_ you.  I’ve put _way_ too much work into this wedding for--”

“I’m not plotting pranks, Lydia; calm down.” And just like that, anything nice about this dinner is gone in a puff of well-placed snark that makes everyone at the table give him these simpering smiles that irk him to no end.

 _Is it still that fucking difficult for them to see me as anything other than fifteen? For God’s sake I’m basically as settled down as the rest of them-_            

“Can I interest anyone in dessert this evening?” the waitress wonders, which ends Stiles’ thoughts on the matter rather quickly.

“Cake!” Logan replies quickly, earning laughter from the whole group while Stiles does his best not to seeth.

 

******************************************************

 

            **Isaac tries to keep from checking Stiles’ expression every five seconds, but he can’t help it.  He can’t imagine the struggle Stiles is having with the wedding so close on the horizon.  Of course Stiles is ecstatic that his dad has found someone; he loves Melissa like a mother anyway; but there’s still bittersweetness in this trip, and Isaac hates the way Stiles’ smiles look so strained tonight.**

**Isaac’s phone dings with a new text at the same time Stiles’ does.  Stiles pulls his out to reveal a group text with Scott that reads, “We watch your kid tonight. You watch ours tomorrow?”**

**Isaac glances back across the table to where Scott sits beside Allison.  He’s grinning ear-to-ear, and she’s elbowing him in the ribs and blushing.  Isaac looks to check Stiles reaction, and Stiles shrugs at him.**

**“Good with you?” he wonders.**

**“Yeah, sure,” Isaac replies with a nod.**

**Scott gives them a thumbs up across the table, which draws his mother’s attention.**

**“Seriously, what are you boys up to?” she demands.**

**“Oh, ya know, just booking the strippers for the surprise bachelor party later tonight,” Stiles teases. It sounds a little meaner than usual, but Isaac hasn’t been able to keep up with Stiles this entire trip anyway.**

**“That’s not funny, son,” John informs.**

**“It’s a little funny,” Melissa replies.  “I mean it’s only fair that you get strippers at yours if I get strippers at mine.”**

**John’s mouth falls open in something between surprise and horror.  “You get--” he realizes from Melissa’s laughter that she’s joking and joins in.**

**Isaac can’t help but marvel at how perfect John and Melissa look together, laughing and enjoying the eve of their wedding without a care in the world.  He never would have dreamed he’d want the same for himself, but he does.  God help him, Isaac’s sitting here wondering if he and Stiles will be this giddy when they get married--will the ceremony be small or big? back home or a destination wedding? Will Ellie be the flower girl for them too? Where would they honeymoon?**

**Maybe it’s foolish to let his imagination run wild, but Isaac doesn’t try to rein it in, not tonight.  Tonight, he’s going to imagine that just this once, the universe is going to let him be happy.**

 

***************************************************

 

Stiles turns the TV to one of the music channels to counteract the quiet when Isaac leaves to venture down the hall and drop Eloise off at Scott’s room .  He pulls off the collared shirt he wore to dinner, white t-shirt underneath peeling off with it.  For a moment or two he thinks about stripping all the way down before Isaac gets back, but instead he opts to leave on his boxers.  If this were a movie, he’d order champagne and strike some seductive pose on the giant king-sized bed.  But Stiles doesn’t have that kind of grace or sultry confidence, so instead he sprawls comfortably out on the bed, both hands behind his head, and tries for a cool, collected, casual confidence look instead.  

It must work at least a little because when Isaac returns he grins at the sight of Stiles, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he walks toward the bed and flicks one of the nightstand lamps on.  It makes the whole thing much warmer than just the glow of the TV and a little less cheesy, which is nice to feel after tonight’s dinner.

“Room to ourselves,” Stiles says when he smiles up at Isaac from the bed, “what in the world are we going to do to keep ourselves busy without a kid to worry about.”

“We keep ourselves pretty busy even _with_ a kid around,” Isaac replies, leaning down over Stiles for a slow, deep kiss.  “You got something kinky you’ve been holding out on me?” he teases.

“And if I did?” Stiles wonders, realizing too late who he’s talking to--and that he doesn’t have any idea how kinky Isaac and Derek ever got.

“Oh,” Isaac replies, eyes going wide.  “That’s--ah--”

“Kidding, sorry,” Stiles interjects quickly, “but I was thinking, you know, that maybe you could top this time? It’s only fair and all.”

Isaac shrugs as he straightens back up and starts to pull his shirt over his head.  As he throws it on the floor Stiles admires how unfairly adorable Isaac looks with his hair mussed up from the friction of losing the shirt.  He must be staring more intently than he realizes, because Isaac blushes and ducks his head.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” he wonders, wiping at his face.

“No, just--admiring the view,” Stiles replies, blushing a bit himself but nothing compared to the crimson splotches on Isaac. “You know how fucking gorgeous you are?”

“Shut up,” Isaac replies dismissively as he unbuckles his belt and slides his pants off.  

“I’m serious,” Stiles persists.  “And tomorrow in that tux for the wedding, how am I supposed to stand up there at the altar when I’m thinking dirty thoughts about what I want to do to my hella hot boyfriend?”

“Lucky for you it’s not an altar,” Isaac replies.  “If it was a real church, bet you’d burst into flames,” he teases.

“Better get it all out of my system tonight,” Stiles suggests and reaches out to snag the elastic of Isaac’s boxers and pull him forward. “Just to be safe.”

“Mmm, safety first,” Isaac agrees, leaning down for another kiss.  

He settles down on the bed, straddling Stiles and bracing himself with one arm beside Stiles’ head as the other trails down to palm at Stiles’ dick through the soft cotton of his boxers but keeps most of his own weight off of Stiles.  Stiles groans at the touch, arching up into it before he can rein himself in or even get his own hand past the death grip he has on Isaac’s underwear.  He can feel Isaac’s lips form a smile before he breaks from the kiss to suggest in Stiles’ ear, “I could ride you, if you want.”

“ _Fuck_ , Isaac,” Stiles replies, closing his eyes to mentally picture the glorious suggestion for a moment.

“That a yes?” he wonders, smirking down at Stiles and grabbing the wrist holding his underwear. “You wanna take ‘em off?” Isaac pulls Stiles’ hand down and looks so fucking happy it makes Stiles’ throat tighten before he manages to speak.

“That’d be awesome, but I--uh--I kinda--” Stiles stammers, and Isaac’s sparkling eyes darken as his apprehension becomes apparent and he freezes. He lets go of Stiles’ hand and moves like he’s about to abandon this whole thing and go sleep in the mini living room by the hotel room’s door. Something stops Isaac though, as if he’s been thinking every through every possible outcome and settled on a less dramatic solution. Stiles keeps his mouth shut and waits for Isaac.

_Progress. It’s progress._

“Or not. Just missionary- uh- the way things went last time is fine, too.  It’s whatever,” he replies with forced nonchalance. Isaac sort of sits on the top of Stiles’ thighs and slowly pulls his fingertips over Stiles’ chest, watching his own hands with an eventual smile.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself as he goes to pull off the black boxers like he’s going to finger himself just to make Stiles happy.

_Shit Stiles, you gotta be faster than this._

“No, no, I just--” Stiles tries again, suddenly embarrassed now that it’s time to fess up, “I--kinda already like--like prepped and stuff,” he finishes finally; he can feel the heat rising in his blushing cheeks and turns his head to the side so he doesn’t have to look at Isaac’s reaction.

“You fingered yourself?” Isaac repeats like he can’t believe it and stares into Stiles’ eyes, and Stiles can’t tell if he’s pleasantly or unpleasantly surprised so he just charges on with his explanation after capturing Isaac’s hands and pulling them back towards himself. He certainly never thought he would be this embarrassed over sex like this.

_It’s not like this is my first time being fucked, just get over it._

Of course it doesn’t help to know that in the back of his mind it is a _big fucking deal_ because this is Isaac, and it’s fucking different because he loves Isaac and he wants this to be amazing for both of them. He wants it so much he can feel his face and neck burning with a blush that Isaac’s definitely going to laugh at.

“Well, yeah, like that--that shower before dinner, you didn’t wonder why I was in there for like a million years? And--and I didn’t know we wouldn’t have El, so I thought it might have to be kind of a quicky, but I just--kinda can’t stop thinking about it,” he admits.  “God, that sounds really pathetic, and I’m being pushy, I know, I just--”

Isaac shuts him up with a kiss that lasts only a second or two.  

“You can’t stop thinking about me fucking you?” Isaac asks, when their lips part again.  He brushes his hand down Stiles’ neck and collarbone and they stare at each other for a second before Isaac declares, “You’re serious.”

“Well--yeah,” Stiles replies with an honest shrug, since he still can’t quite tell if Isaac’s on board with this or not.  

 

************************************************

 

            **Isaac is pretty sure his heart skips a beat or two at Stiles’ confession.  The idea that Stiles wants this, want _Isaac_ enough that he’s planned ahead to make sure this happened. It’s….**

**Well, it’s terrifying really.  Because Stiles has no idea just how truly horrible Isaac is at being on top.  He’s no doubt got some great idea in his head of how he wants Isaac to blow his mind--except Isaac’s not so sure he can manage it.**

**“Is that--are you good with that?” Stiles asks, clearly worried he’s pushed too far at something.**

**He bites his lip as he looks up at Isaac, undeniably, adorable hope in his eyes that this is still going to go the way Stiles has in his head.  Maybe Isaac can’t live up to whatever Stiles is imagining, but with Stiles looking at him like this he’s got to try.**

**“Yeah, okay,” Isaac replies, leaning down for another kiss, “just--uh--it’s been a while,” he hedges, too mortified to admit the truth that he really just sucks.  “Might be a little rusty.”**

**“I hear it’s like riding a bike,” Stiles replies, letting out a little gasp at the end of the sentence as Isaac sucks at his collarbone and pushes their hands into the hotel sheets.  “And we can--ya know--take our time and all.”**

**“Plan to,” Isaac replies when he lets Stiles feel his full weight; both because he wants to enjoy every second he can with Stiles and because he wants to stall as long as possible the moment of disappointment when he falls far short of Stiles’ vision of this.  “Scoot up and sit back against the headboard,” Isaac instructs into Stiles’ neck.**

**Stiles does as requested, and Isaac sits up and reaches to slide Stiles’ boxers off, and finds himself extraordinarily pleased that Stiles is already panting in short little breaths that means he’s already pretty fucking close to getting all flustered and demanding. It’s a little like a game of predator and prey, when Isaac strokes the length of his exposed cock before bending to suck just the tip into his mouth.  Stiles moans, probably much more high-pitched and needy than he’d like to sound, but it gets Isaac’s blood racing to think how eager Stiles is for this when Stiles’ hands land in his hair and he pulls _hard_.  Isaac moans brokenly at the unexpected move, and Stiles sobs from the vibration on his dick and one of his knees next to Isaac’s ribs twitches.**

**Maybe Isaac’s not the best at this, but he still knows what feels good, and he can be damn sure to show Stiles a good pre-game even if the main act is a little lacking.**

**“You can move a little, you know,” Isaac says as he pulls off of Stiles’ dick and starts to kiss his way down to Stiles’ tight balls.**

**Stiles moans and sounds distinctly frustrated but he stays just as still as usual, so Isaac reaches back to pull Stiles’ knee up off the bed, closer to him. When he wedges the hand not holding Stiles’ dick underneath Stiles’ ass cheek Stiles stops breathing for a second.**

**_Fuck. Fuck I should not have done that._ **

**“I didn’t know-- I’m sor-” Isaac moves his hand less than a centimeter before Stiles interrupts him with a cracked low murmur.**

**“Isaac,” Stiles manages. “Only if you want this over way too fast.”**

**Stiles’ chest is a bright splotchy pink and he smiles drunkenly down at Isaac. He can’t help but think that it’s the kind of look he’d like to see forever on Stiles’ face instead of the worry and vacant smiles this week had been.**

**“Scoot down a bit,” Isaac says and kisses Stiles’ slit just to make him jolt with a low ‘fuck’, he leaves the bed for just a second to strip off his own black boxers and grab the lube from his duffel bag; he hesitates just a second before grabbing a condom, too.  Stiles does as he’s asked; he even jumps a step ahead, grabs a pillow and props it under his ass. “Perfect,” Isaac replies, laying next to Stiles on the bed and sucking at the place on his collarbone where Isaac plans to leave an impressive hickey to remember the evening by as Stiles turns to wrap him up in a sweaty embrace.   “You’re pretty fucking gorgeous yourself, you know,” he adds as he looks over Stiles’ eyes, his whole genuinely excited face, pleased to echo Stiles’ praise from earlier.**

**“Ha, yeah, 147 pound of pale skin and half a ton of sarcasm; I’m a real catch.”**

**“Yeah, you are,” Isaac replies, moving to kiss Stiles on the mouth again, slow and deep, relishing how hungrily Stiles kisses back.  He breaks away from Stiles’ arms to drizzle lube on his hands, reaching down to coat Sitles’ erection while he pushes on Stiles’ hip to get him to lay back against the mattress, working his cock as he seals their lips together for another kiss, swallowing the sound of Stiles’ groans.  Isaac loves the feel of Stiles’ bottom lip held carefully between his teeth as he tastes Stiles, but he’s interrupted by Stiles’ hands on his shoulders, trying to get his attention.**

**“Fuck, Isaac,” Stiles pants when he breaks the kiss. “Can we--we try to avoid the whole part where I come too soon this time?” he wonders, their face a few inches apart.  “A man’s pride can only take so much.”**

**Isaac rolls his eyes but takes his hand from Stiles’ dick, moving instead to cup his balls while smiling serenely back down at him.  Stiles throws his head back on the pillow and practically curses, “Not _helping_!”**

**Isaac can hold back a bit of a chuckle as he moves on to circling Stiles’ hole with his forefinger.  He can feel Stiles’ muscles contract at the touch and Stiles suddenly can’t keep his eyes open no matter how hard he keeps trying to stare at Isaac, his eyes drooping almost shut. The shuddering moan that accompanies Stiles’ sudden pliability makes Isaac whine himself.**

**“Why didn’t you tell me?” Isaac hums as he bends over Stiles, pushing against his hole again, lets the tip of his finger push into the tight muscle.**

**“Tell you what?” Stiles breathes out, and Isaac’s face is so close to Stiles that he can feel Stiles’ jaw shiver with the little breaths he’s panting.**

**“That you like this so much.” Isaac feels powerful in just the right fucking way. They’re heading into the part of this where Isaac’s sure to disappoint, and he’d honestly rather get just Stiles off now and be done with the whole thing.**

**“I could give you a rim job if you want,” and as he says the words he realizes just how much he _really really_ wants to.**

**“ _Fuck,_ God that would be fucking- just-- You know, when I said we could take our time, I didn’t mean _all_ night though,” Stiles says, squirming on the slightly damp sheets and grabbing the base of his dick and squeezing pretty hard. **

**The sentence trails off into a guttural grunt as Isaac slides the first finger in and acquiesces. There’s plenty of time to eat him out later.  He can tell Stiles is loose, but he still plans to stall as long as possible.  Isaac works Stiles open a bit before withdrawing completely so he can settle further down on the bed.  He strokes Stiles’ waning erection for a quiet moment or two before giving him two fingers.  Stiles throws his head back on the pillow again, still fully on board with Isaac’s running of the show.**

**“More,” Stiles says when he drags his nails up Isaac’s arm in an attempt to speed things up, “C’mon, I’ve been thinking about this _all_ _fucking day_.” Isaac’s spine shivers from the light touch that his body has come to love over the past two months and he hums in agreement to Stiles’ demands.**

**Isaac bends to suck one of Stiles’ balls in his mouth as he adds his middle finger and feels only slightly guilty knowing that it’s a move copied directly from Derek and Isaac’s early days.  Stiles bucks up from the bed and fists the sheets, letting out a needy whine as Isaac swirls his tongue before releasing the sac with a bit of a wet pop.**

**“Fuck me,” Stiles demands, apparently all out of patience and practically fucking himself on Isaac’s fingers as he says it.**

**“Not yet,” Isaac replies, realizing that he’s not quite up to the occasion _just_ yet and he looks around to find the blue plastic square of the condom he tossed on the bed. He twists his fingers to stroke up along the inside of Stiles, looking for his prostate.  **

**“I hate you so much,” Stiles rushes out breathlessly, but the moan he lets out after another firm stroke says differently.**

**Isaac lubes himself up and has to pull his fingers out to clumsily roll the condom on while Stiles pulls at his own hair with one hand as the other covers one of his eyes and scrunches his face to keep from coming. Isaac tries focusing for just a second on relaxing enough to enjoy this moment, teases Stiles by hitting his prostate every other push and pull of his fingers. Despite the frustration on Stiles’ face, he’s smiling and wiggling his ass like he really loves what Isaac’s doing to him. Anyone else would raise an eyebrow at such strange in-bed behavior from their lover, but all Isaac can be is grateful that it’s Stiles here with him at this point.**

**_It’s farther than I got with Derek in a long time.  He’s enjoying himself a helluva lot more than Derek did.  Maybe this won’t suck.  Please let this not suck._ **

**“You good like you are? Or you want me to flip you?” Isaac asks, uncertainty still creeping in when he glances up to meet Stiles’ eyes.**

**“Like this,” Stiles replies without hesitation, “I wanna see you.” He drops his hand away from the covered half of his face to bring Isaac’s weight down a bit more by wrapping his arm across the back of Isaac’s torso and pulling. Isaac loses his breath as Stiles nudges Isaac’s head to the side, his warm breath tingling all over his neck before Stiles’ tongue licks his earlobe and holds it gently with his teeth. Their dicks bump against each other from Isaac’s resulting shudder and Isaac lets himself loose control for just a moment, grinding into Stiles. He buries his face into Stiles’ shoulder while Stiles breathlessly laughs into his ear and tightens his arm across Isaac’s back in what a more flowery person than Isaac might call a hug. The familiar feeling of good-exhausted muscle twitches wrack Isaac’s body from the motion, suddenly overwhelmed with how fucking great this is, how amazing _Stiles_ is. **

**_And Stiles absolutely deserves to get what he wants._ **

**Isaac braces himself with one arm besides Stiles’ head and Stiles’ hand comes up to hold Isaac’s neck, and his fingers drum just a bit like _he_ might be the nervous one when he locks eyes with Isaac and doesn’t say a word, his lips wordlessly hanging open in a look of general serenity. Isaac reaches down to help line himself up.  He pushes in slowly, waiting for Stiles to adjust to the intrusion, and it takes _everything_ in him and a tight fist around the base of his dick for as long as possible to keep control with the tight heat of Stiles surrounding his pulsing cock. The only noise in the room for fifteen seconds is the sound of the two of them breathing and trying desperately to hold themselves back from just busting a nut in the first two minutes. He starts to move when it feels like he isn’t going to ruin this for Stiles, it takes a second to find his rhythm and Isaac wants to cringe at the awkward groans being punched out of his gut while Stiles stares up into his eyes and barely makes a sound.**

**Isaac misses Stiles’ mouth for a kiss; he’s so caught between his half formed worries and his overwhelming pleasure he ends up mouthing along Stiles’ jaw tenderly. It takes Isaac another moment to realize that Stiles liked what his fingers were doing earlier, and after two long thrusts that draw a sigh from Stiles, it only takes a little while longer to have Stiles keening beneath him.**

**“You good?” Isaac gasps.**

**“Yeah,” Stiles replies, “Yeah, yeah, just like that. Right- fucking- _there._ Fuck yes!”**

**Isaac silences Stiles with a kiss to keep him from shouting glory to the heavens and waking the whole damn hotel floor.  But honestly, he could just about shout himself, this is the closest to fucking _perfect_ he could’ve hoped for right now.  Stiles is groaning pleasure into his kisses and Isaac’s on the brink, reaching between them to make sure Stiles is ready too, finding his dick sticky with precome that Isaac fondles alond the tip, and Stiles seizes up, his heels digging into the mattress.  **

**“C’mon, Stiles,” Isaac says, gripping Stiles’ cock tight and jerking it up as fast as his own movements.  “Come for me.” Stiles’ deep pants tinge toward longer and more tense moans until Stiles’ hands sort of flutter for Isaac’s shoulder blades and he pulls, demanding Isaac pound into him harder.**

**“I’m close, babe, I’m almost--- _Isaac--_ fuck, fuck, _fuck--”_**

**And then Stiles is there, whole body clenching as he groans with sweet relief right in Isaac’s ear, sending Isaac over the edge too.  He bites against Stiles’ collarbone to muffle his cry, realizing too late that it might be something Stiles’ doesn’t care for. As the euphoria begins to fade just a bit and he can hear something other than his own blood pounding in his head, Isaac pulls out slowly before collapsing next to Stiles on the bed. The look on Stiles’ face isn’t anything other than bliss.  He turns to look at Isaac through heavy-lidded eyes, grinning so wide his face is going to start hurting in a second.  Stiles reaches a hand over to card his fingers through Isaac’s hair.**

**“Fucking phenomenal,” he declares breathlessly.**

**“Yeah?” Isaac replies, unable to hold back his own smile.  He runs his fingers over Stiles’ forearm, trying to imitate the way Stiles makes him feel when Stiles does it for him.**

**“ _Hell_ yeah,” Stiles sighs with a smile in his voice, scooting over to use Isaac’s chest as a pillow.  Isaac wraps his arm around Stiles as Stiles curls into his side.  “I know we gotta like clean up and all, but for now can we just--”**

**“Yeah,” Isaac agrees, “this is good.”**

**_This is really, really fucking good._ **

**_Fucking phenomenal,_ ** **he thinks, grinning up at the ceiling.**

 

*************************

 

Stiles almost goes for round two in the shower, but he can’t quite muster the energy.  And damn if that wasn’t the best sex he’s ever had, since he didn’t even notice the condom until Isaac was making a face at peeling it off. But whatever, it’s not like it effected Isaac’s frankly porn worthy fucking technique.

Besides, tomorrow is going to be exhausting even if he actually gets enough sleep after that.  Nevertheless, he can’t help but lather up the eucalyptus scented hotel soap and coat Isaac’s shoulders, working his way down Isaac’s chest and then back up to trail down his arms.  Isaac smiles leaning into Stiles and resting their foreheads together.  

“Love you,” Stiles murmurs, his sleepy mind allowing the truth to slip out before he can filter them the thought into something less intense.   

Isaac jerks back like he’s been electrocuted, and his eyes widen from either shock or pure terror.  Stiles backtracks immediately, more than a little terrified that Isaac’s on the verge of bolting out of the shower again.

“I--just--I mean--” Stiles stammers.

“It’s cool,” Isaac replies with forced laughter.  “Everybody gets mushy and romantic at weddings, right? That’s a thing.  I won’t hold hormone-induced post-coital confessions against you.”

He doesn’t meet Stiles’ eyes as he speaks, instead his eyes and face stay down; he brings one hand up to rub nervously at the back of his neck as he adds, “Won’t let it go to my head.”

And with the last words Stiles realizes that Isaac might not be rambling like this because he didn’t want to hear what Stiles just blurted; Isaac might be worried Stiles didn’t really mean what he said.  

“You _should_ let it go to your head,” Stiles replies, reaching under Isaac’s hand to replace Isaac’s nervous hair twisting at the base of his neck with his own hand.  He cards his fingers through Isaac’s drenched blonde locks slowly much more kindly than Isaac, and grabs Isaac’s free hand with his own.  Eventually Isaac lifts his face up again, but only to roll his eyes.  

“Yeah, sure,” he agrees without conviction.  

“Hey, who told you that you suck at being on top?” Stiles wonders, and when Isaac just shrugs in reply he supposes, “Derek?”

“You really want to talk about Derek while we’re naked in the shower together?” Isaac deflects.

“No,” Stiles replies, “I want to talk about you,” he goes on, bringing Isaac’s face to his with a gentle pressure on the back of Isaac’s neck.  The kiss is soft and quick and sweet, and when Stiles pulls back he adds, “I want to talk about how I’m not caught up in the romance of the wedding trip or in the endorphins of maybe the _best_ sex I’ve ever had in my life.  I. honest-to-God. love. you.” Saying the words feels so solid and reassuring that he knows that even if Isaac doesn’t return the sentiment, it won’t change a single thing. It’s amazing.

He hears the way Isaac’s breath catches at the words and wonders if Isaac meant to tighten his grip on Stiles hand to the point that it’s almost painful.  

“You don’t have to say it back,” Stiles says, “I don’t want you to, until _you_ want to; hell I didn’t really _mean_ to say it, but--but it doesn’t make it any less true, ya know?”

Isaac stares at Stiles through the water droplets caught in his eyelashes, looking shy and vulnerable as he bites his bottom lip.  Stiles almost looks away from the intensity of the gaze, but he doesn’t want to send the wrong message.  After another beat or two, Isaac surges forward, crashing his lips to Stiles’ and pulling Stiles body to his with one hand on his back.  He presses Stiles back into the cold tile of the shower wall, tongue sweeping into Stiles’ mouth slow and deep, and Stiles feels like he’s being protected and held, which is sort of strange and also very, _very_ nice, until they’re both gasping for air under the spray of the shower and they have to break to catch their breath.  

 

****************************************

 

            **A million phrases run through Isaac’s mind as he kisses Stiles, trying to put into actions what he’s sure to fuck up when he tries to express it in words.**

**_You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me._**

**_I don’t have words for how happy you make me, even when you’re driving me nuts._ **

**_I’m not sure I deserve this._ **

**_Do you realize how fucking amazing you are?_ **

**_Do you have any idea what you do to me?_ **

**** **But he can’t seem to get his mouth to cooperate, and the silence grows between them until Stiles says, “We should really get some sleep.  Tomorrow is going to be insane.”**

**He doesn’t seem disappointed at Isaac’s lack of verbosity; maybe the kiss was enough of a “ditto” for now.**

**“Yeah,” Isaac agrees, finally finding his voice, and leaning back in for one last quick kiss before turning to step out of the shower.**

**They dry off and get ready for bed in comfortable quiet, but Isaac’s mind is still whirring as he processes Stiles’ earnest declaration.  He’s so distracted that he manages to get toothpaste all over his thin, white sleepshirt and has to go digging through his suitcase for another while Stiles strips the sheets from the bed and replaces them with the spare set from the shelf in the closet.**

**“You okay over there?” Stiles wonders, and Isaac realizes he’s been rummaging blindly through the bag for at least ten minutes because Stiles has the bed made up again already; in fact, he’s settled in under the covers.**

**Isaac takes a deep breath as he turns to face Stiles.  When their eyes meet, he can see the worry his behavior is brewing in Stiles.  His mouth feels as dry as the fucking Sahara when he finally manages to start speaking.**

**“I never really--” he starts haltingly.  “I didn’t think it was even possible to be this--this happy with somebody,” he says, and Stiles’ expression of worry gives way to a smile that makes Isaac’s heart skip a beat or two.  “This _in love_ with somebody,” he amends, and Stiles’ eyes light up at the reciprocation.  “And it--it scares the hell out of me, but it’s--it’s--I’m really glad we’re--ya know--us,” he finishes with a vague gesture between the two of them  to convey whatever this relationship is.  **

**“Me too,” Stiles replies, getting out of bed to close the space between them and wrap Isaac in a tight embrace.  “The glad we’re us part _and_ the scared as hell part.”**

**“Yeah?”**

**“Yeah,” Stiles affirms.**

**They hold the embrace a moment or two longer, Stiles’ head resting against Isaac’s chest.  Then Isaac grabs Stiles’ hand and they climb into bed together, Stiles taking the now-usual spot as little spoon and Isaac wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist. Stiles drifts off to sleep fairly quickly, but Isaac stays awake, still soaking in the euphoria of this whole night.  He honestly can’t remember the last time he was this happy and content for this long---sometime back in childhood he supposes--and it’s such a peaceful feeling that he never really wants tonight to end.  In the end he drifts off to sleep to the sound of Stiles’ light snoring, and when he wakes to the sun peeking in through the curtains, he isn’t sure what he dreamed of last night, but he knows it was something great.**

**_Something fucking phenomenal…_**

 

**_********************************_ **

 

Stiles is so nervous and jittery he kind of feels like he’s going to buzz out of his skin.  He’s waiting with Dad downstairs while Allison helps Melissa finish getting ready in the upstairs of the Martin’s beach house. He can’t stop fidgeting with his boutonniere, a calla lily with a ribbon thing and seashells that Lydia put together to match Melissa’s elegant bouquet arranged by Allison.  If they ever get tired of their current jobs, Stiles is pretty sure those two could make a hell of a living on event planning.  Lydia’s voice carries in from the courtyard where she’s scaring the life out of the staff who are setting up the tent and tables for the reception.  Dad seems pretty calm, only the way he has his hands shoved down in the pocket of his black dress pants gives him away.  There’s a set to his jaw that Stiles recognizes as another stress indicator.   

            “Hey,” Stiles says so Dad will look over at him.  “No cold feet over there I hope?”

            “No,” Dad replies with a roll of his eyes.  “Just--ya know, pre-wedding jitters.  Totally normal.  Before your mom and I--”

            He stops the sentence short, realizing too late what he’s saying and what it might bring to the forefront of Stiles’ mind.  Stiles takes a steadying breath at the words, trying hard not to think of the worn photo in his wallet of his parents’ wedding day.  He manages a smile for Dad, and brings up his hand to Dad’s shoulder.

            “You know I’m happy for you, right?” he asks.  

            “Yeah, kiddo, I know,” Dad replies, clearing his throat after.

            “Seriously.  It’s gonna be awesome,” he adds, going in for a hug.  

            They’re saved from the awkward transition out of the moment by Isaac’s arrival with Eloise in tow.  She’s in a sweet little spaghetti strapped white linen dress riding in a little wagon adorned with tulle, lilies, and bearing a chalkboard sign reading “Here comes the bride” in elegant script.

            “There’s my little flower girl!” Dad exclaims.  “Don’t you look pretty?!”

            Ellie grins at the attention, throwing a handful of rose petals at him that mostly just land around her and get stuck in the poofs of her dress.  

            “Not yet, Ellie,” Isaac tells her, bending to collect the few that escaped to the floor.  “Wait until I tell you, okay?”

            _God bless dress pants,_ Stiles thinks as he admires the view of Isaac’s perky ass as he grabs the petals and puts them back in the wagon.  Isaac turns to face him, catching Stiles’ appreciative look, and Stiles can’t help but blush when Isaac winks at him.  As Dad coos over how precious Ellie looks, Scott arrives with Kit holding tight onto his dad’s hand.  Kit’s in little tan dress pants and a white button down with the tiny sleeves rolled up, holding tight to a pillow with two fake rings tied to the ribbon.  

            “Our children are outdressing us, man,” Stiles says with a smile to Scott that he returns.

“How cool is today, dude?” Scott says, walking over to Stiles.  “Gonna _actually_ be brothers.”

            “Pretty cool.”

            _Bittersweet, but still pretty damn cool._

“You know I used to wish _so hard_ that my parents would get back together,” Scott says, and Stiles does remember all the shenanigans plotted in elementary school to cheer Scott out of his melancholy, a favor returned when Stiles lost his mom a couple years later.    “But then I got old enough to really understand how complicated relationships are, and I met Allison and finally had an idea of what marriage is _supposed_ to be like.  How happy it makes you.”

            “You’re really going to start this sentimental talk _now_ ,” Stiles halfheartedly complains.  “When I’m about to have to go stand in front of a bunch of people and--”

            “Yeah, now,” Scott says.  “‘Cause, ya know, I just want to say, before they’re married and I’m kind of obligated to say it, that I’m really glad she’s marrying your dad, instead of being miserable for getting back together with mine.”

            “Scott--”

            “I’m serious.  Your dad stepped up when mine bailed.  You guys have felt like family for a long time.  Now we just get to make it official.”

            “Yeah,” Stiles agrees.  “And--uh--for the record, I’m happy they picked each other, too.  She’s never--never once made it seem like she was trying to _replace_ my mom, but she was always there when I needed somebody,” he says.  “Besides, they had to team up if they had any hope of keeping two sons like us in line,” he adds, trying to push to a more light-hearted tone before his emotions get away from him.  

            Scott practically barrels him over with the bear hug that follows, and Stiles hugs back just as fiercely.  “Love ya, bro,” Scott says, grinning as he pulls away.

“You too,” Stiles echoes.   “And now we should _really_ look into getting those matching Boondock Saints tattoos,” he jokes.  

 

**************************************************************

 

            **Ellie giggles with glee every time she dispenses a handful of flowers into the air for the cool beach breeze to disperse along the ‘aisle’. It’s really just a petal-lined alleyway in the sand that heads towards the Pacific. There are _way_ too many eyes on him. Focusing on El’s joy keeps Isaac from feeling _too_ self-conscious about parading through the small gathering of wedding guests--some of Melissa’s extended family, colleagues of the Sheriff’s who’ve known him for decades, some other people Isaac doesn’t recognize in the least.    They’re all “awwwwing” over Eloise though, no one’s paying any attention to the guy pulling the wagon, wondering how in the hell he got to a place this fantastic. In his mind, he dings Lydia a few ceremony planning points for not explaining to him that he would basically be dragging nonfunctional wagon wheels through the loose sand. No one notices but Isaac though, and he does his best to make it look effortless.**

**Isaac takes his seat down at the front and plops the white poof of his niece on his lap and looks to Stiles, who’s grinning like a maniac now that the moment’s here.  He hopes the smile hangs around a while because _damn_ Stiles looks good right now.  Maybe he’s just caught up in the bliss of the ceremony or maybe it was the declarations last night that catapulted them into exciting uncharted relationship territory for Isaac.  Either way, he’s so enraptured looking at Stiles that Isaac very nearly misses the cue to rise for the bride’s entrance.  **

**Melissa looks radiant in the soft white dress she picked out with Lydia and Allison as she heads for the lily-covered teakwood wedding arch under which John awaits.  He’s beaming back at her, and Isaac can’t help grinning at the sight.  The pictures that Allison had texted him when they were at the dress appointment really didn’t do the outfit justice. It’s just relaxed and cool enough for an afternoon beach wedding, but still formal enough to make Isaac realize that Melissa has put a lot of thought and care into this whole weekend despite Lydia and Allison’s organization. They’re going to be an awesome couple, he’s pretty damn sure.  He’s looking forward to seeing how happy they continue to make each other.  Up until now, he’s seen them both as Stiles’ family--Isaac’s only by default.  Maybe it’s still true, but for the first time Isaac feels invested as if they’re _his_.  He doesn’t wish them happiness just because Stiles cares for them.  Isaac would want John and Melissa to live happily ever after regardless of his relationship with Stiles.  **

**They don’t exchange traditional vows, choosing instead to use their own words to pledge their lives to each other.  It’s nice--more personal it seems to Isaac.  He thinks he’d want the same at his wedding.**

**_Wait?_**

**_Did I seriously just think about having a wedding?_ **

**_Must be something in the air because that’s--that’s crazy._ **

**_Isn’t it?_ **

**** **His eyes go automatically to Stiles’ face.  He’s got tears welling up in his eyes as he listens to the vows, but he’s clearly overjoyed.  Isaac smiles at the sight, reminded just how far gone he is on Stiles.**

**_And he loves me back.  He actually loves me back._**

**_So yeah...maybe I am seriously thinking about a wedding…_ **

 

************************************************

 

The rest of the guests mill around on the sand and talk to friends while Isaac and the rest of the wedding party take off for the Martin’s house like a well-drilled military exercise.They leave the ceremony to gather in the gorgeous reception tent in the courtyard of the house.  The strings of clear glass lights cast a warm glow on the scene as the sun sets, painting a gorgeous backdrop for the festivities since the impressive property is on a gentle incline, allowing them to look down at the Martin’s house and on to the ocean.  Stiles can’t help but gravitate to Isaac, lacing their fingers together with a grin as he leans into Isaac’s side.   

            “Pretty great ceremony,” Isaac comments.

            “Mmmhmm.”

            “Ready for this dance?” he wonders and points down to the patio by the house that’s been transformed into a dancefloor for the night.

            “Oh God, I forgot about that.”

            “Luckily for you I’m panicking enough for the both of us,” Isaac replies.  “If we screw it up, I’ll swear you tripped me.”

            “Deal,” Stiles replies, “it’ll be fine.  You’re guaranteed to dance better than my dad.  Poor Melissa.  She doesn’t stand a chance of looking graceful.”

            They start wandering down the hill towards the dance floor and as if on cue, the DJ announces the entrance of the happy couple, and everyone claps.  They take the floor to the first chords of “Fly Me to the Moon” and start some kind of waltz-looking dance they’ve clearly been practicing a while.  There are lots of whistles and clapping when they end the dance with a dip.  Melissa and Dad are still looking at each other like they can’t believe this is real life.  The fairy lights shining in their eyes add to the effect.  Stiles has to admit it’s a welcome sight.  He hopes this happiness lasts for them; he really does.

            Lydia takes the floor with Danny, and Stiles notices Isaac staring.  At first Stiles assumes it’s because Danny’s pretty damn easy on the eyes, even if it doesn’t make Stiles kind of jealous to have Isaac checking out some other guy.  But something in the intensity of Isaac’s gaze suggests that he’s more apprehensive than appreciative of the sight of Danny here at the wedding.  

            “What is it?” Stiles wonders finally.  

            “Huh?”

            “Danny,” Stiles replies with a nod.  “I told you we were only ever just friends.  We fooled around and all, but we weren’t ever anything serious.  I swear. You don’t have to worry.”

            “I’m not.”

            “Then what?”

            “I just--I can’t figure out why the hell he looks so fucking familiar,” Isaac mutters, brow furrowing as he stares even harder.  “I know him from _somewhere_ I just can’t figure out _where_.”

            “Just ask him,” Stiles replies.  “Maybe he knows you too--from someplace besides the tea shop by school.”

            “Maybe later.  It’s not that big a deal.”

When the song transitions, the new song is the familiar “Take Me the Way I Am” from the playlist they’ve been using the past few weeks.

“Hey, we know this one,” Stiles murmurs.  “You wanna?”

“Sure,” Isaac replies, ignoring the way his whole body tenses at the suggestion.

_Please don’t let me fuck up.  I really, really don’t want to embarrass the shit out of myself right now._

But this is exactly why they’ve been the kind of dorks who’ve practiced for this.  Stiles smiles at him as they stand facing each other and start a simple foxtrot--or an attempt at it anyway.  They move more easily than Isaac expected, and he only steps on Stiles’ foot once.  In fact, when Lydia twirls by she even complements them on, “Not looking like total spazes.”

“Gee thanks for the exorbitant praise,” Stiles replies.  “Don’t hold back.”

“What do you want me to say? How cute you two are?”

“We’re not--”

“You’re pretty damn adorable,” Danny interjects.  “All googly eyes and--”

“You know what; I hate you both,” Stiles informs with a huff.  “Go dance someplace else.”  When they retreat, laughing good-naturedly, Stiles looks back to Isaac with a bit of concern, “Am I really going all googly-eyed on you?” he worries.  

Isaac laughs but immediately feels bad about it by the way his face changes to reflect Stiles’ bad reaction to it.

“Oh, God, I totally am.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Isaac assures.

“Then what?”

“I was worried he was talking about _me_ ,” he confesses, and this time it’s Stiles who laughs.  

“I love you,” he says, repeating the words from last night softly as he leans into Isaac, to start a simple, swaying slow dance to the next song.

“Love you, too,” Isaac murmurs back, and Stiles’ is glad to hear the confession seems to come more easily this time.   

Melissa cuts in after another song or two, stealing Stiles away.  He keeps an eye on Isaac though, watching him take Eloise out of her high chair and bounce her on his knee so Scott and Allison can go dance. Kit comes over from playing with a couple of older kids and pulls on Isaac’s pants until he bends down and picks him up too. Babysitting tonight should be fun with all the cake in the two of them.

“He makes you so happy,” Melissa comments, and Stiles realizes he must have been caught staring.  “I’m glad.”

“I’m glad for you and Dad too, ya know,” Stiles replies earnestly.  “If I haven’t like made that clear or whatever.”

“Thanks.  That means a lot.  I know all this has to be a little bittersweet.  I’m not trying to replace your mom,” she says.  “If I haven’t made that clear or whatever,” she adds, quoting Stiles.

“I know, but you’ve--you’ve kind of been acting mom for like--a decade or so,” he reminds with a shrug, clearing his throat to try and rid the huskiness his emotions cause.  “And once me and Scott got to be best friends you were always gonna be stuck with me.  I’m glad it all worked out.”

“Me too, Stiles,” she agrees.  “Oh, how _precious_!” she says, looking over his shoulder, and Stiles turns to see what she’s grinning at.

His heart pretty much melts where he stands.

Isaac’s got Ellie positioned so she’s standing on his shoes, hunched over and “dancing” her around to the music as she giggles in delight.  He’s glad to see the wedding photographer has noticed the priceless moment and is snapping a picture of the two because that is _so totally_ getting printed and framed somewhere in the house.

“Yep,” Melissa says.  “He’s a keeper.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, “been thinking that myself lately.”

“Wait, d’you mean you two are thinking about--?”

“No, no, not like--like--just--I don’t want him to go anywhere anytime soon,” Stiles clarifies quickly, but his heart is pounding at the assumption anyways.   “We’re still--figuring it all out.”

She smiles.  “Fair enough. Given that it took me about eight years to get up the nerve to ask your father on a date, I can’t really advise you to rush anything.”

“Hey, at least you eventually worked up the courage,” Stiles says.  “And seriously, I’m glad you did.”

“So am I,” the song fades out and she releases Stiles’ with a quick kiss on the cheek.  “Go enjoy that adorable kid of yours,” she tells him.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he replies, hurrying over to bask in the adorableness of the moment.

 

**********************************************************

 

            **The morning after the wedding is total chaos. They rush to load up the van and pack the kids in before the eleven o’clock check-out deadline. Isaac learned his lesson last time, so he downs his dramamine before the car ride home.  It’s been a perfect few days, and he still half expects to wake up and find it all a dream.  He drifts off to sleep in the back seat to the musical stylings of Mickey Mouse, and stirs only a few times when Stiles wakes him to feed him some pretzels and take his next dose.**   **He doesn’t really remember getting out of the van, just wakes up as Stiles is all but carrying him through the house.**

**“Gonna need some help with the stairs, dude,” Stiles informs.  “Or else you’re sleeping on the couch.”**

**“Where’s Ellie?”**

**“Put her to bed already, sleepyhead,” Stiles replies.  “Come on, Isaac. Walk.”**

**The journey gives Isaac an unwelcome feeling of deja vu, the pieces of the night Stiles came home to find him drinking with busted hands from wrecking the house.  The thought of it sends panic running through him, and he tries to be more alert, but he’s just so _tired._**

**“Stiles?” he asks, unable to hold back the question as the deja vu of Stiles tucking him into bed becomes almost overwhelming.**

**“Yeah?”**

**“I’m not drunk or anything am I?” he worries as Stiles sits him on the bed and he lifts a hand to his eyes. He’s ok, he thinks.**

**“No, Isaac, you’re not drunk,” Stiles answers, brow furrowing in worry.  “Do you feel okay? I know the dramamine makes you sleepy as hell, but--is the room spinning or something? You feel sick?”**

**“No,” Isaac replies, “I just thought--thought I might be.  I didn’t wanna do that to you again.”**

**“Okay, well, no worries. You’re not drunk.”**

**“Didn’t mean to do it then either,” Isaac assures.  “I promise I’m not like my dad.”**

**“Hey, look at me,” Stiles says as he reaches to frame Isaac’s face with his hands.  “You aren’t _anything_ like your dad, Isaac.  You’re the best guardian Ellie could ask for,” he swears.  “The best boyfriend I could ask for,” he adds, and Isaac smiles at the earnestly in the declaration.**

**“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he admits.**

**“Ditto, dude,” Stiles says.  “Now come on, get back to sleep.  It’ll wear off by morning.”**

**“Mmmmkay,” he says as Stiles eases him back onto the bed.  “Stiles?”**

**“Love you.”**

**“Love you, too.”**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, a reminder that there are PITH pinterest boards that have some of our inspiration for elements of each chapter (and are also just a good excuse to go through baby stuff and wedding things) [Chapter 15 Board](https://www.pinterest.com/vagueshadows/chapter-15/)
> 
> One chapter to go after this! Hopefully it won't be so long between the updates though! Thanks for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, folks, last chapter BUT, as you may have noticed, this work is now part of a series, so we'll be back in the 'verse (hopefully sooner rather than later)

            **Isaac wakes, as he has most mornings this summer, to the sun shining in through the blinds.  He’s been sleeping more soundly the past several weeks since the wedding than he’s slept since before his mom died.  Looking over at Stiles, who’s still fully asleep, snoring lightly and drooling onto his pillow, Isaac can’t help but smile.  He’s pretty damn sure that Stiles has a lot to do with the disbursement of Isaac’s ‘issues’; despite Stiles’ hyperactivity, something about him settles Isaac.**

**The trip down to Oceanside was the perfect catalyst for this relationship to become a _real_ relationship.  Maybe it was wedding romance magic; maybe it was being part of such a momentous family event; maybe it was just the natural progression of things. Whatever the cause, it seems like they’re moving past the cautious start and into the comfortable pace of living together as a couple.  And Isaac didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be this incandescently happy, much less him.**

**Stiles stirs just slightly in his sleep, muttering something Isaac can’t make out.  He curls into Isaac though, one hand draping across Isaac’s chest, as the rest of him presses into Isaac’s side, including some morning wood. Isaac hesitates a second, biting at his lip before he shifts onto his side, facing Stiles.  He leans in to mouth at Stiles’ exposed neck as he slides a hand down over Stiles’ beat up shirt until he can feel Stiles’ heartbeat. Isaac thinks about waking Stiles up by playing with his nipples again since it makes him so deliciously incoherent, but at the last second decides to run his hand down between them to palm at Stiles’ erection through the cotton of his boxers.  The move gets a groan out of Stiles, who arches up into the contact.**

**“And good morning to you, too,” he says breathlessly, and Isaac chuckles, muffling the sound into Stiles’ shoulder.  “Oh, God, please don’t stop,” Stiles adds, running his fingers through Isaac’s hair, gripping hard but not _too_ hard, like he just _needs_ Isaac to stay. He tucks his face into Isaac’s pillow as the sun continues to rise like the idea of starting another day is just too much.**

**“You too tired for this?” Isaac asks with a relaxed smile in his voice. It gets Stiles to peek out from his hiding spot and nuzzle up to Isaac’s shoulder.**

**“Mmm-mmm,” he disagrees with a sleepy hum, but Isaac can’t hold back a little grin, since Stiles is desperately trying to focus on Isaac’s face with half open eyes. He gives up and reaches to rub his eyes with one balled up fist and then immediately goes to push his fingers through Isaac’s hair again. He can only reach one side while they’re still laying on their sides like this, but it makes Isaac’s chest feel warm and comfortable, and they settle for basically just running their hands over each other while Stiles attempts to get his eyes to stay open. After about five extremely patient minutes on Isaac’s part, Stiles shifts his hip along the sheets like he’s trying to get his boxers off without letting go of Isaac.**

**“Want me to get those outta the way?” Isaac teases before squeezing Stiles’ dick and then moving his hand away just enough to have Stiles panting.**

**“Please, Isaac- _please,”_ Stiles whispers while he chases Isaac’s hand in vain. Isaac’s only a little surprised that he can handle having Stiles pressed and squirming all over him. Normally the claustrophobia doesn’t bother him during sex, but sex with Stiles gives his mind space to think and reflect even with someone as fucking gorgeous as his boyfriend. It’s kind of nice to know, though, that Stiles can do that for him. He wants to remember it when all the shit inevitably hits the fan. That there can be good things in life, too. **

**Isaac sucks along Stiles’ collarbone, leaving a hickey no one will see but him.  He pushes Stiles’ boxers down and runs one hand down his ass to leave his underwear around his thighs, which is an inexplicable turn on for Isaac. He pulls his fingers lightly over Stiles’ hip and he laughs into Isaac’s shoulder until Isaac frees his hardening cock and strokes the length of him, turning the light shudder into something much more desperate.  Stiles brings his free hand up to his mouth, muffling his moans into his balled fist.  Isaac pulls back from Stiles, lifting his weight up off the bed, and Stiles _whines_ at the separation though he releases Isaac’s hair and lets him retreat.**

**“Where’re you--” he starts to ask, but before he can finish, Isaac moves down the bed, eyeing Stiles' erection and looking up to meet Stiles’ eyes as he licks his lips. “Oh, fuck, are you really?” Stiles wonders, eyes alight with desire at Isaac’s invitation; the fire in Stiles’ eyes has blood rushing to Isaac’s dick, and he bites at his bottom lip before smiling and nodding in confirmation.  “You are the absolute best,” Stiles says.**

**“Glad you’re such a fan,” Isaac murmurs while he grabs Stiles’ boxers and pulls them off, and immediately takes his ankles and pushes his legs up slowly. Once he’s got Stiles right where he wants him, he ghosts his fingers up Stiles’ thighs as he lays between them.**

**The smart remark forming on Stiles’ lips is never verbalized, and Isaac holds eye contact as he takes the tip of Stiles’ leaking cock between his lips, relishing the way Stiles’ eyes go wide in pleasure as he groans Isaac’s name.  Isaac licks along the slit, teasing Stiles a bit before finally taking him in as deeply as he can manage, guiding Stiles’ hand back to his hair. Stiles takes the hint, gripping Isaac’s hair tightly again, and Isaac hums his approval of the move, getting another wanton moan from Stiles. Isaac’s pretty sure that Stiles gravitates to his hair because Isaac told him he likesit, and he does, but what he really fucking _loves_ is being able to feel Stiles’ hands shake and jitter. Even when Stiles can’t find any words and resorts to moans, the rest of his body always seems to be telling Isaac that he’s doing everything right. Isaac adores all the needy sounds he can pull from Stiles in moments like these; Isaac loves when he can reduce Stiles, who is always so verbose, to nothing but grunts and groans and babbling curses.  **

**“Fuck, Isaac, _fuck_. I--gonna--so close--ohmygod you are--so fucking--oh _fuck_ , yes, _Isaac,_ ” he moans, one hand tightening in Isaac’s hair as Isaac fondles Stiles’ balls. Stiles trails his other one down Isaac’s cheek while his breaths come in shorter and shorter pants, and Isaac feels like he’s been punched in the chest in a _good_ way. Playing with Stiles’ balls usually makes him come in a spectacular, spine-bending show. Stiles plants his feet hard into the mattress, and all of a sudden Isaac’s fingers stroking down Stiles’ sac with just the thought of tracing around his hole gives Sties the extra overload of pleasure needed to have him shooting down Isaac’s throat in the next instant, hips stuttering up off the bed in aborted thrusts.  Isaac pulls up a bit and swallows around Stiles as he comes, watching with pleasure as Stiles throws his head back into the mattress, cursing through his orgasm as he fists the sheets with the hand that dropped away from Isaac’s face. **

**Isaac pulls off Stiles slowly and gently pulls his legs back down since Stiles is panting way harder than usual and seems sort of exhausted. The fucked out look on Stiles’ smiling face has Isaac’s cock hard and heavy after watching Stiles come apart under his ministrations despite.  He moves up the bed, lying next to Stiles as he turns his attention to his own needs since he doesn’t really expect Stiles to do much after coming so hard.  Isaac hisses when he finally gets his fingers around his dick, he’s so stiff it’s almost too much to feel it all.**

**He only jerks his hands up three or four times before Stiles straddles him and looks down at Isaac with a lazy smile and determined eyes that stop Isaac in his tracks.**

**“Do I taste good?” he questions Isaac, and stills Isaac’s desperate movements with a firm grip of his own over Isaac’s hand while his other knuckles trace around Isaac’s happy trail and hips, and now Isaac understands what Stiles must feel like when he’s squirming all over the place because the feeling goes straight to his spine and stomach, setting them on _fire_. He leans over Isaac and smiles sleepily, but pulls his head back before Isaac can kiss him.**

**“Well? Do I?”**

**“Fucking- _yes,_ ok? You taste amaz-”**

**Stiles crashes his lips against Isaac’s, fucking into Isaac’s mouth with his tongue.  Before Isaac thinks about what he’s doing, he nips at Stiles’ bottom lip, more reflex than anything since he’s so desperate to get off that he _knows_ he’s almost pushing them both up off the bed with the effort. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, he mirrors the kiss, albeit a bit _too_ exuberantly, and Isaac can taste the iron of blood in his mouth.  It doesn’t stop him from continuing to thrust up into the heat of his hand and Stiles’ once he loosens his hand just enough, and it drives Isaac over the edge.**

**“I got you, Isaac,” Stiles breaks away from the kiss and whispers it into the corner of Isaac’s jaw.**

**“I-- I-- _Stiles,_ ” Isaac distantly realizes that he maybe sounds like he’s sobbing when he yells Stiles’ name, but he doesn’t give a single fuck. He grabs on to Stiles’ shirt with the hand not entangled with Stiles’, and jerks his whole body even closer to himself as he comes. Stiles stays crouched over him, whispering such sweet and sleepy things in his ear as Isaac tries to catch his breath. He feels so lucky to have Stiles here that he’s content to run his hand down Stiles’ arm while they both take some time to breathe. Eventually Isaac realizes his come is all over both of their hands and it’s getting pretty gross down there- he’s not sure why he’s embarrassed about it until Stiles extricates himself and then starts casually licking it off his fingers.**

**“Christ,” Isaac mumbles and turns into Stiles’ shoulder. Seeing Stiles’ fingers slowly withdraw from that fucking mouth is almost too much, and Isaac’s not ready to go again, which isn’t fucking fair.**

**“Just Stiles will do,” he replies as he runs a hand down Isaac’s spine. Isaac can hear the smart-ass grin Stiles definitely has for mirroring the response Isaac gave him months ago, but it doesn’t make him feel anything other than amazing to have someone who would even _remember_ that. They stay like that for a few minutes until Stiles slowly pushes Isaac off his shoulder so they can switch positions. **

**“Are you--you okay?” Stiles wonders as Isaac lays back in the sheets, feeling wonderfully boneless and relaxed. Stiles is looking up at Isaac’s face from his resting place on Isaac’s chest.**

**“Perfect; why?” Isaac replies honestly.**

**“Okay, just--checking,” Stiles says, and Isaac looks down to study him, trying to gauge why he’d be worried, and assuming maybe he just doesn’t feel like he reciprocated enough; Stiles is big on ‘tit for tat’ in the bedroom, making sure they’re both giving and getting equal pleasure.  One of the many, _many_ reasons he’s the best lover Isaac’s ever had. **

**“I-- uh. You’re um, bleeding,” Stiles says like he’s in trouble or something, and they both reach for his mouth at the same time. It gets a little laugh out of Stiles, and Isaac smiles at him when he sits up to wipe at Isaac’s bottom lip.**

**“I’ll survive,” he tells Stiles, wrapping his fingers around Stiles’, pulling his hand gently away from his mouth. He certainly doesn’t mind keeping a mark that Stiles gave to him.**

 

*****************************

 

Stiles soaks in the relaxing sensation of lying spent and sated with his head on Isaac’s chest, coming down slowly from their bubble of euphoria.  As is generally the case these past months, he wonders if he’ll wake to find this all a dream.  He feels so _content_ that it’s almost unsettling.  He and Isaac finally gave up all pretense that this was anything other than a relationship, and they’ve been doing pretty well, finding a synchrony that seems to suit them both.  

But Stiles has always been one to overthink things, and there’s still plenty of conversations to be had as time goes along.  In the moment, it didn’t seem like a very big deal, but now that his upstairs brain is working again, Stiles can’t help but think how Isaac guided his hand to pulling Isaac’s hair. Or how biting him harder than intended didn’t kill the mood and might actually have gotten Isaac off faster.  

Stiles trusts that Isaac has been honest in saying that he doesn’t want sex with Stiles to be the same way it was with Derek.  Nevertheless, everyone’s got their preferences, and, if there’s something lacking in the way Stiles takes care of Isaac, he wants to know.  It’s kind of part of the perks of long-term relationships, learning each other and shit.  Besides, Stiles likes to be _awesome_ at stuff, not just _decent._  He’s just not sure he wants to rock the boat by asking too much, though.  It’s kind of nice to just enjoy being with Isaac and Ellie, as a pseudo-official family without breaching the many topics that could send them back a step or two from the progress of recent months.

“You’re quiet,” Isaac comments, and runs his hand over Stiles’ shoulder and down his arm.

Isaac’s spent enough time with Stiles over the past year to know when something is on his mind.  So it’s not a complete surprise for him to pick up on the mood.

“You complaining?” Stiles asks, hoping the tease will be enough to alleviate Isaac’s concern.  

“Just...commenting,” Isaac answers, and Stiles feels a little shift as Isaac shrugs his shoulders.

They lie in silence a few moments longer, but Stiles can sense the tension starting to build in Isaac.  More than once Isaac glances down as if trying to read Stiles’ mind and find out what the problem is.

“It’s not a big deal or anything,” Stiles says finally.  “Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” Isaac replies.  “But you can still tell me about it if you want.”

“Don’t want to ruin the moment.”

“So it’s something about me?” Isaac says with a frown, and Stiles realizes he’s assuming it’s the ‘don’t ask about my issues while we’re in bed’ rule.

“Just a question I want to ask,” Stiles says.

“So ask.”

Stiles sighs before acting on the invitation.  “Do you remember that _horribly_ embarrassing morning when I blurted out all those questions about whether you like rough sex?”

“I remember,” Isaac confirms, voice giving away nothing. “And I’m guessing that wasn’t the question you were worried about asking.”

“You know if there’s any of that you wanted us to do--especially now we’re kind of, ya know, together-- I’m cool with it,” he declares, glad he’s not looking at Isaac because he can feel the blush rising in his cheeks.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Stiles replies.  “Okay as in you want to? Or is this just a general acknowledgement of the statement? Or--or what do you mean by ‘okay’?” Stiles wonders, tilting his head up to try and gauge Isaac’s reaction by his expression.

“I mean, ya know, that I hear you.  And if you want to do any of that, I’m cool, too,” Isaac tells him, eyes meeting Stiles’.  “Well, with most of it,” he amends.

It’s Stiles’ turn for a monosyllabic answer because he’s not quite sure how to steer the conversation where he wants it to go. “Oh.”

“Do you-- are you cool with it?” Isaac asks.  “‘Cause that time in the shower, you kind of…seemed like it wasn’t doing much for you.”

“Well, I didn’t really know what I was doing, ya know.  It was just kind of--out of my element,” he says, more than a little embarrassed.  “But like with your hair and--and the biting just now it didn’t go terribly, so,” he breaks Isaac’s gaze as he offers,  “Maybe with a little practice I could get better.  If you tell me what kind of things--”

“Hey,” Isaac interrupts. “You are _great_. You drive me fucking nuts already; you know that, right?”

“Sure,” Stiles replies.  “I just don’t want to leave you hanging, ya know? You know exactly how to fuck me up, and if liking harder sex is your thing, then maybe we can turn it into _our_ thing? I dunno…”

“You remember, that morning you blurted questions about rough sex,” Isaac replies, “how frustrated you got when I told you that I didn’t know if I liked it _better_?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says with a slight grimace.

“Well, I think I’ve figured it out,” Isaac replies.

“And?” Stiles wonders, locking eyes with Isaac again, not entirely sure he wants to hear the answer.  “You do like it better?” he supposes, in light of his earlier observations.

“No,” Isaac answers to Stiles’ surprise.  “Not exactly anyway.”

“Not exactly?”

“Well, I do like it when you’re a little less careful,” Isaac replies, and Stiles’ heart sinks a bit to hear it.  “But I like everything else we’ve done too,” he goes on.  “I’ve kinda realized that I don’t really care if it’s rough or tender or fast or slow or which one of us is doing the fucking,” Isaac confesses, meeting Stiles eyes as he concludes,  “I just care that it’s with _you_.”

Stiles’ mouth falls open just a bit at the intensity of the earnest declaration, and Isaac drops his gaze, biting nervously at his swollen bottom lip as he gives a little shrug.  Stiles moves immediately to kiss Isaac, deep and desperate and _God_ he wishes he had a faster rebound rate because _holy shit_ that was definitely one of the most romantic things Isaac’s _ever_ said.  

They break the kiss when Stiles can taste Isaac’s blood from the little bite Stiles gave him, but Isaac seems pissed in a cute way that they’ve stopped. Stiles rubs his thumb over Isaac’s lip, and since Isaac doesn’t seem bothered by it, Stiles promises himself he won’t be bothered by it either. Stiles wonders when Isaac tries to kiss him again and he dodges to make Isaac kiss his cheek instead, “I love you so fucking much; you know that?”

Isaac smirks at him and replies, “I’ve had my suspicions.”

 

***********************************

 

            “Hey, handsome,” Stiles says.  “You keep frowning over that study guide and your face is going to stick that way,” he warns.

            “The test is in two weeks,” Isaac mutters in reply, not glancing up from the book.

            Stiles rises from his place on the couch and moves to stand behind Isaac where he’s seated, rubbing at the tension building in Isaac’s shoulders.

            “You’re going to pass, Isaac.  I know you are.”

            “Don’t,” Isaac replies tiredly.  “Just--I need to study.”

            “I just don’t want you to psyche yourself out.  You’ve been buried in that book for so long, ya know?”

            “ _Two weeks_ , Stiles!” Isaac snaps back, shrugging Stiles’ hands off his shoulders.

            Stiles takes a step back, struggling to think of something humorous to cut through the awkward silence.  Before he manages it, Isaac speaks instead.

            “Maybe--you have a point,” he says with a sigh, running a hand down his face.  “I didn’t mean to do that I just--this could change _everything_ , if I can just--just pull it off.”

            “You will,” Stiles assures immediately and he drops his hands from their nervous finger pulling. Isaac can’t see that he’s nervous and he believes what he just said, and because he needs Isaac to believe it, too.  “How about a compromise, huh? I was about to ask what you wanted for dinner, but maybe I make us some PB&J for a picnic at the park? You can study while Ellie plays?  Way better setting than sitting at the table for hours on end.”

            “That sounds really great actually.”

            “It’s a plan,” Stiles declares.  “Get your books together and grab the diaper bag and stuff while I pack the food?”

            “Yeah, on it,” Isaac agrees, pushing his chair back from the table.

 

*******************************************************************

 

            **Stiles was right; Isaac is psyching himself out over the goddamn test.  He’s regretting that he ever looked into this, however much he may need something besides the job at the cemetery.  Sure he made pretty good grades in high school, but that was with Dad riding his ass and checking his homework constantly and making him stay for extra help all the time.  This time, it’s up to Isaac, and he’s not so sure that’s enough.**

**He watches as Stiles helps Ellie toss the old bread they brought into the pond for the ducks.  She’s giggling as usual, tiny face alight with joy.  Isaac grabs his phone and snaps a quick candid of the two people he loves most in the world, a reminder of why he’s attempting to get a job that doesn’t wear him down quite so badly.  A job Eloise can be proud of him for when career day rolls around; a job where Stiles can introduce him as “my boyfriend, the EMT” because no one would ever want to introduce their boyfriend the grave-digger.**

**Of course, Stiles and Eloise just add a whole other layer of stress to this process.  He still doesn’t know how Stiles manages to maintain such earnest, unwavering faith in him.  Isaac’s a bit terrified that it’s because Stiles hasn’t really ever seen him attempt anything like this; so there’s been no chance for him to prove Stiles’ faith unfounded.**

**_He’s giving me the benefit of the doubt; when I fail, he’ll realize the truth.  Oh, God, how am I even going to look him in the face if I can’t pass a test when I’ve been studying for it for months now? I’m going to die of embarrassment.  Dad was right about me; I screw everything up.  And Stiles is going to watch me fuck it all up._ **

**“Izzy!” Ellie calls, hurrying back over to him as fast as her chubby little legs will brings her.  “Izzy, Izzy!” she demands, grabbing his hand that’s holding his review guide and tugging.**

**“Isaac’s got to study, sweetie,” Stiles says, joining them.  “Unless you think a little break might be good?” he adds hopefully.  “We could finish feeding the ducks and walk over to the C-A-R-O-U-S-E-L?”**

**“Iyaak, peeze?” Eloise persists, pouting a bit to see she may not succeed in getting him up to play with her.**

**“Yeah, okay, Elliebelle,” he agrees, rewarded by her smile of triumph.**

**_I’m probably going to fail the damn test anyway.   What’s a half hour break going to matter?_ **

 

*******************************************************

 

Stiles wishes test day would just come and go already.  Isaac’s wound so tightly that Stiles half expects him to have a stroke before he can ever take the test anyway.  His reassurances seem to fall on deaf ears, and Isaac’s annoyance at Stiles’ attempts to relax him is obvious, so Stiles finally gives up for the most part.  Instead of saying “you’ll be fine” he opts for just general reminders of “I love you” and “I’m proud of you” and “you’re an awesome uncle” which Isaac seems to accept a little more easily.  

            It doesn’t help that Isaac hasn’t been sleeping well.  Stiles has woken in the night more than once to find Isaac lying sleepless beside him.  Possibly worse is when Isaac wakes gasping from nightmares that leave him sweaty and shaking.  He doesn’t share what horrible things haunt him lately, but Stiles can guess the terrors of Isaac’s past that the stress might be bringing back to the surface.

            “You coming to bed?” Stiles wonders when he rises from the couch as the hall clock chimes midnight.  “Or you staying up?”

            “Bed,” Isaac replies wearily.  “I’ve got a killer headache, so this is all pointless right now anyway.”

            “Just a few more days and you’re done though.”

            “Don’t remind me.”

            “You’re ready.  You’ve put so much work into it,” Stiles points out, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on Isaac’s lips.  “And no matter what, we love you.”

            “Thanks,” Isaac replies, biting at his bottom lip as he shuts the book and places it on the coffee table.  “I know I’m driving you nuts; I just--don’t know why the hell I’m bothering anyway.”

            “Because you’re smart and ambitious and awesome,” Stiles answers confidently.  “But also sleep deprived.  You’ve got to sleep more than a few hours a night, Isaac; it’s just as important as the studying. So move that perky ass of yours,” he adds, grabbing Isaac’s hand to pull him to his feet.  

 

******************************

 

**_Stiles should be nominated for sainthood or something,_ Isaac decides as his stress-tense muscles relax under Stiles’ lithe fingers, massaging Isaac’s back as he lays facedown in bed.  He insisted Stiles didn’t need to do this.  In fact, Isaac’s been kind of a jerk lately, and totally doesn’t deserve to be pampered, but--**

**“God, that feels so good,” he grunts as Stiles works out a knot in Isaac’s left shoulder.  “You’re fucking awesome.”**

**“I agree,” Stiles says in reply.  “Best boyfriend ever.”**

**“Mmmm,” Isaac agrees, closing his eyes.**

**“I can think of a few other relaxing activities,” Stiles says, hand trailing down Isaac’s back to pat his ass.  “If you want.”**

**“I _want_ but I think it would offend you if I fell asleep mid-sex,” Isaac replies.**

**He could _never_ actually do that.  Sex with Stiles is honestly just too damn good.  But “I’m not in the mood” sounds lame and pathetic and like he’s some middle-aged boring guy or something.**

**“Good use of judgement,” Stiles says, leaning down to kiss along Isaac’s shoulder two or three times before flopping down into bed beside him.**

**He lays on his side, cuddling next to Isaac, and Isaac takes the hint, turning on his side and pulling Stiles in close to be the little spoon.  Stiles sighs, sounding content, and Isaac murmurs, “love you.”**

**“Love you, too,” Stiles says, stroking the arm Isaac has wrapped around his waist.  “G’night.”**

**Isaac’s so exhausted that not even the worries of the impending test can keep him awake very long.  He drifts off to sleep to the sound of Stiles’ even breathing, still hugging Stiles close, like he can be a barrier from the stress that’s threatening to smother Isaac at any minute.**

**_Isaac’s dream is a delicious cocktail of warm skin and hands and all around heat and softness, like someone put a heated blanket around his shoulders. Isaac feels something shift underneath him and after a while he realizes he’s with a sleeping Stiles, curled up next to him on the couch in their living room. Isaac can’t identify the knot of panic in his chest, as if he’s about to fall off a cliff. There doesn’t appear to be anything wrong, but all of a sudden someone is breathing down his neck from behind the couch. Isaac whips his head around to feel his temple collide with the corner of his father’s glasses, and his father’s hands jump from the back of the couch to Isaac’s shoulders._ **




**_Isaac’s heart is absolutely racing as he backs away from his father and into Stiles, covering his body completely._ **

**_“And just what do you think you’re doing, Isaac?” Dad wonders. He’s deceptively calm, just as he usually is before the trek down to the basement._ **

**_He sneers down at Isaac and tightens his grip on Isaac, and Isaac does his best to not react, because that always makes it so much worse._ **

**_“You have time for this? With a test coming that’s your only shot to make something out of your sorry excuse for a life? You’ve got time for this shit?” Isaac looks down at Stiles, still asleep in his arms and shakes his head._ **

**_“Well, son? Give me an answer. Don’t just shake your head at me like a three year old. Be an adult and tell me the truth.” Isaac feels like his father is roaring at him, but as far as he can tell, Stiles is still asleep underneath him._ **

**Thank God for that _, Isaac thinks._ I can’t let him see Dad acting like this.  He’ll tell someone. **

**_“I- I uh… we were…”_ **

**_Isaac has apparently taken too long to respond, because in the next second his father yanks at the collar of Isaac’s shirt,  pushing him to the floor in front of the couch._ **

**_“You pathetic excuse for a man,” Dad spits at him, “You let this little faggot poison you with this disgusting--”_ **

**_“Dad, no!” Isaac yelps, watching in horror as his father rounds the couch and grabs at Stiles’ unconscious form, jerking him up off the couch by the front of his shirt._ **

**_Stiles wakes violently, clearly disoriented by the turn of events, and flails against Dad’s grip. Isaac is frozen on the ground next to the coffee table. Frozen and helpless, like he always is, unable to help himself, or Stiles. The same way he never managed to stick up for Cam in the same way Cam stuck up for him. He watches as his father drags Stiles, who’s screaming Isaac’s name in absolute terror, towards the basement door. Isaac swears he’s about to wet himself with the overwhelming panic he feels in every nerve ending of his body._ **

**_He finally, finally propels himself off the rough carpet and toward the basement door just in time to watch Dad shove Stiles down the stairs.  Stiles crashes down, tumbling like a rag doll and landing in a heap on the hard cement floor.  Dad rounds on Isaac, gripping his shoulders painfully tight and swinging him toward the stairs, holding him, on the brink of falling like Stiles._ **

**_“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Dad declares, voice calm and cold as he glares at Isaac._ **

**_“Dad, please; I swear I just--I--I---”_ **

**_“You make me sick,” Dad dismisses, shoving Isaac back and letting go._ **

**_Isaac tumbles down the stairs, feeling the unforgiving edges of every stair he hits on the way down.  He lands on top of of Stiles, hurrying to get to the side as Stiles whimpers in pain.  Steady as ever, his father stares down at him from the top of the staircase.  He descends slowly, knowing there’s no way Isaac would dare try to escape by rushing past, even if he didn’t have Stiles to worry about._ **

**_“So who will it be, son?” Dad wonders as he reaches the last stair.  “Someone’s going in there tonight, you or him?” he asks, kicking at Stiles’ leg with his steel-toed workboot._ **

**_If Cam were here, he’d volunteer, because that’s just how Cam was.  Isaac never mustered the same level of courage._ **

**_“Dad, please, don’t.  We were just--I was just--I didn’t mean to make you mad; I swear.”_ **

**_“Isaac, what is he talking about?” Stiles whispers, looking to Isaac with terrified eyes._ **

**_“I asked you a question!” Dad thunders._ **

**_“Me,” Isaac blurts, surprised at his own gumption.  “Me, okay? Just let him go and put me in there, just let him go, okay?”_ **

**_Dad yanks him up with a rough hand under Isaac’s arm, pushing him toward the freezer and leaving Stiles in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.  Dad opens the freezer, and that sound, the seal popping, makes Isaac shudder.  He feels once again like he’s about to careen over a sheer cliff._ **

**Oh, God. I can’t do this, _Isaac panics._ He’s gonna leave me in here to die this time.  Oh, God.**

**_“Dad, please don’t.”_ **

**_“You want me to stick your little butt buddy in there instead?”_ **

**_“No! No--just--” he looks back to Stiles, reminding himself that he has to do this to protect him._ **

**_“You’ll… You will let him go, right?”_ **

**_The moonlight from the grimy window above glints across his father’s glasses, obscuring his eyes completely._ **

**_“Sure, son. Sure,” he answers with a flippant wave of his hand. “Now get in the damn freezer.”_ **

**_Isaac watches the last sliver of light disappear and listens to his father’s footsteps retreat towards the stairs, suddenly coming to a halt._ **

**Stiles. Don’t touch Stiles. Just let him go. Please, just let him go.**

**_“What the hell you been doing to my kid?” Dad’s muffled voice demands, and he can’t hear Stiles reply, but Dad declares, “So help me God, you come near him again and I’ll goddamn kill you.”_ **

**_Stiles starts screaming, and he can hear the sound of boxes toppling over as Dad no doubt slings Stiles around the basement, using the environment to his advantage like he always does.  Stiles screams for Isaac, begging him to help.  Isaac yells back at the top of his lungs, using up precious air.  He punches and kicks furiously trying to lift the door of the freezer up though he knows good and well that it’s locked._ **

**LET HIM GO _is the only thought within his mind as he feels the words rip his throat up as they come out._**

**_All of a sudden, the freezer is so much worse than it usually is. At least he can usually stretch his arms out in front of him, feel like he can breathe. But they’re trapped, and someone is sitting on his chest and he can’t breathe. He tries to back away, knowing that it won’t help at all. How is his father doing this to him? The door is still firmly shut, and he can’t hear anything now except for the hammer of his own heart as he rams his spine into the hard plastic of the refrigerator._ **

 

********************************************

 

Stiles wakes to the sound of Isaac shrieking in the bed next to him, sitting bolt upright as Isaac does the same, eyes wide in abject terror and he just keeps screaming and screaming and _screaming._ Stiles moves to wrap his arms around Isaac, sitting behind him and pulling him close like Dad always did for Stiles’ night terrors, but as soon as Stiles’ encloses Isaac in the hug, Isaac’s screams become panicked shrieks of“No! Stiles! No!”

            “It’s okay!” Stiles assures, but before he can let go Isaac is fighting against Stiles’ embrace, kicking and shoving and one good punch to the face that splits Stiles’ lip open as Isaac careens backwards off the bed, still screaming “No! Stiles! No!”

_He’s afraid of me? Why is he afraid of me? It’s just a dream, right? But why would he dream that? Oh, God I’m an idiot.  All this rough shit in bed. He thinks I just want to use him? I don’t fucking understand.  What the hell is going on with him?_

“I’m not going to hurt you, Isaac; I swear!” Stiles promises, leaving the bed to kneel next to Isaac on the floor, unsure how else to comfort without contact.  

            It seems the jolt of hitting the floor has only disoriented Isaac further, and he looks around wildly, like he isn’t sure where he is.  But when his eyes find Stiles’ face, Isaac’s gaze remains panicked but riveted to Stiles, and he sits up off the floor, coming closer to run his hands over every inch of Stiles he can reach, eyes fixating on Stiles’ mouth, wiping carefully at the blood trickling down from his busted lip.

“Oh, God, your lip! What else hurts, Stiles? What hit the stairs on the way down? Did you hear anything break?” he demands, feeling along Stiles’ ribs like there might be something out of place.  “We’ll get you patched up, okay? I’ve got--got supplies in my bathroom and--”

“Isaac, I’m okay; it was a dream; I’m okay,” Stiles assures, relief flooding in at the realization that he _isn’t_ the one Isaac was afraid of.  

_A nightmare of his father? Of his father hurting me?_

The thought puts an ache in Stiles’ chest.  Isaac continues to talk as if he hasn’t heard any of Stiles’ words,  “I’ll take care of you, Stiles, I swear. He didn’t mean it; he just--just gets carried away sometimes, but--but- he’s my dad and--they’ll take me away if anyone find out that he--because they wouldn't understand and-- and you just _can’t_ tell your dad, Stiles, _please_?”

“Are you seriously defending your _dad_ \--” Stiles starts, before aborting the argument for the moment.  “Isaac it was a nightmare.  He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I tried to help you, I swear, I tried to get out but he locked me in like he always does and--and--and I couldn’t get the lid up, and then I couldn't breathe and--”

“Isaac!” Stiles finally shouts, bringing both hands up to frame Isaac’s face.  

Isaac flinches back from the touch, but it seems to shock him out of his terrified trance.  

“Stiles,” he replies, staring into Stiles’ eyes for a moment before his gaze darts around the room, and then glances up and down to assess Stiles’ body.  “You’re okay?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Stiles assures with a forced smile because while seeing Isaac like this might be shattering his heart into about a billion pieces, physically he’ll be fine.  “It was just a dream.  I’m safe.  You’re safe.  He’s not going to hurt you ever again.”

_And if someone hadn’t stabbed that fucker already, I would be next in line I swear to God._

“You’re not okay,” Isaac counters, frowning.  “Oh, God, I _hurt_ you, Stiles!” he realizes, rising from the floor and retreating out of Stiles’ space as if he doesn’t trust himself to stay close. “I didn’t realize--”

“ _Hey,”_ Stiles interjects, getting to his feet to follow Isaac.  “You were in the middle of a night terror.  It’s not your fault.” He reaches for Isaac’s hands, placing them on his chest again.  “It’ll heal up in no time, but I’m fine; it was a nightmare; I’m fine. I’m safe. You are too,” he repeats.

Isaac runs his hands over Stiles again, but languidly now, instead of the panicked check from before.  Stiles can see Isaac’s still processing, but for the first time it registers that Eloise is fussing, apparently woken up by this whole fiasco.

“Let’s go check on Ellie, okay?” Stiles says, “and get you a glass of water.”

“I’m okay,” Isaac croaks in reply, though he’s so clearly _not_.  “Take care of- Eloise. I’m okay.  I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m okay.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Stiles replies, brushing Isaac’s sweat-soaked hair from his forehead.  “It’s just a nightmare.  Everything’s fine,” he promises, pressing a kiss to Isaac’s forehead before getting to his feet and extending a hand down to Isaac. “Come on.”

 

******************************************************

 

            **Isaac lets Stiles lead him to the nursery like a little kid, clinging to Stiles hand as he follows a step behind.  Eloise is fine, nothing a diaper change and pacifier can’t fix.  Stiles rubs her back and hums a lullaby to get her to go back to sleep.  Isaac wishes vaguely it could be that easy for him to get back to sleep too.**

**“C’mon,” Stiles bids, and Isaac goes downstairs with him, embarrassment slowly filling in as the terror abates.**

**“Sorry I woke up the whole damn house,” Isaac mumbles as he takes the water Stiles offers him and sits at the table.**

**“Nothing to be sorry for,” Stiles replies.  “I--uh--know how it sucks.  I used to have night terrors after my mom died.”**

**“Yeah?” Isaac says, surprised.**

**“They got better after a while, but I swear the space between them just makes them worse sometimes. You forget how fucking awful they are.”**

**“I haven’t had one in a long time,” Isaac confides.  “Last time was right after Cam died.”**

**Before that happened, Isaac used to wake up screaming pretty regularly. Derek had mentioned over pizza the night after he woke Derek up with first one that they probably shouldn’t fall asleep together anymore. He realizes that this is the first time since Stiles moved in that he’s dealt with this.**

**_Maybe I should sleep somewhere else for a while. At least until the test is over._**

**“You want to talk about it?” Stiles asks, taking a seat beside Isaac at the table.**

**“You know it already,” Isaac replies. “What he used to do.”**

**“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Stiles replies, taking Isaac’s hand and threading their fingers together.**

**“He hurt you,” Isaac adds, so quiet he thinks Stiles might not even have heard.**

**“I’m okay.  I’m right here,” Stiles comforts, leaning his head over onto Isaac’s shoulders.  “We’re safe and sound, no matter how real it felt.”**

**“Yeah, but _I_ really did hurt you,” Isaac adds, shame burning hot in his veins at the thought. **

**_I’m no fucking better than my dad…_**

**** **“Not on purpose; accidents happen.  I’ll be good as new before you know it.  Don’t worry about that.”**

**“You should get back to sleep,” Isaac says, though he can’t bring himself to let go of Stiles’ hand.**

**“Nah, I’m okay.”**

**“I don’t think I can go back to sleep, so, really, you should just go back to bed.”**

**“Or I could beat you at Scrabble,” Stiles suggests.  “Unless you’re in more of a Madden 2015 kind of mood?”**

**“You don’t have to do this.”**

**“Strip poker?” Stiles goes on, unswayed by Isaac’s dismissal.**

**He can’t help but smile at just how _Stiles_ this reaction is, comforting him, empathizing, never wavering.  For the millionth time, Isaac revels in how lucky he is, turning his head to plant a kiss on the top of Stiles’ head.**

**“Love you so much, you know that?”**

**_I know it wouldn't happen, but I really would’ve gone in that damn freezer to protect you.  I’d do anything for you, Stiles.  And that scares the hell out of me, but I don’t want it any other way._**

**** **“Can we just--sit here for a little bit?” Isaac asks.**

**“Yeah, of course.”**

**He reaches over to Stiles’s face to touch it one more time.**

**_He’s ok. Stiles is ok._ ** **He breathes out a shaky sigh of relief. _We’re ok._**

 

**************************************

 

            That night, Stiles climbs into bed while Isaac checks on Eloise one last time before turning in for the night.  But when Isaac returns, he pauses in the doorway, and Stiles lifts his head up off the pillow to ask, “Something wrong? Ellie okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine,” Isaac replies.  “I just--Maybe I should sleep someplace else tonight.”

“What? Why?” Stiles replies, though he can probably guess the answer.

“I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“It was an accident.”

“I don’t want to hurt you by accident any more than I want to hurt you on purpose,” Isaac says miserably.  “So, I think I should just--”

“What you should do, is get that perky ass into bed with me,” Stiles replies.  “I won’t sleep a wink otherwise.”

“But--”

“And you know I sleep better when I get to be the little spoon,” Stiles adds unabashedly, and Isaac grins at the words.

“I still say you just do that so you can drool on my arm,” Isaac says as he finally walks into the room.

“That was _one_ time,” Stiles retorts.  “One!”

“You’re never living it down though,” Isaac informs, hesitating on his side of the bed.  “You’re _sure_?”

“Positive,” Stiles says, tossing back the covers for Isaac to climb under.

Isaac slides slowly over to meet Stiles in the middle of the bed.  Stiles turns his back to Isaac, who wraps a warm arm around his waist.

“G’night,” Isaac murmurs into Stiles’ shoulder.

“Night.”

It’s not long--an hour or two at most--when Stiles is woken up again by Isaac’s tossing and turning. He replayed last night’s disaster over and over in his mind though, and he’s pretty confident that he’ll be able to fix what went wrong.

“Isaac,” Stiles speaks lowly, but close to Isaac’s scrunched up face. He’s almost completely twisted up in the blankets he’s been struggling so much in his dream, but Stiles can’t let him keep sleeping through whatever hellish landscape he’s enduring right now.

“Isaac, tell yourself to wake up. It’s not real, it’s a dream.” That’s what his dad had told him a couple of times when he was very little. He remembers that it helped a lot, to wake up and to have someone right there to tell him that the dreams, no matter how real they felt, were just his dreams. He feels sick for being nervous to touch Isaac, and he really doesn’t want to get nailed in the face again. But the pain of watching Isaac’s face even while he’s still asleep is more than enough to make Stiles tempt fate and wake him up anyways.

It’s good that the blankets are screwed up around him when Stiles leans over him to shake his shoulders as hard as he dares. “Isaac! It’s not real!” Isaac’s eyes flash open and Stiles can tell right away that he’s not completely awake yet.

Isaac struggles to move desperately away from Stiles’ hands until he sees Stiles and he locks terrified eyes with him.

“I-I didn’t mean to, please don’t hurt me,” Isaac pleads with him like a little kid would with their parents, and the words burn so badly that Stiles immediately recoils. The depth of Isaac’s childhood misery apparently knows no bounds.

“It was a nightmare, it’s alright now,” Stiles says as he hesitantly reaches over to the blanket that’s pulled tight over Isaac’s shoulder and pinned underneath his weight. Isaac still looks like he’s expecting Stiles to let this gentle touch turn into a punch, but instead all he does is loosen the blanket. The moment Isaac can breathe again is the moment he’s fully awake, but he doesn’t look relieved in the slightest.

He pretty much yanks himself free of the rest of the blankets and then hurries out of bed, breathing fast. Stiles can’t follow him fast enough though, and Isaac puts a nice dent in the drywall along with a frustrated growl.

“Freezer. Again,” Isaac grinds out, pre-empting the question Stiles was going to ask him as he hurried around the bed to get to Isaac.

“It’s gonna be ok,” Stiles says, even though he doesn’t know how to help Isaac through all this. He will though. Isaac lets him lean his chin on his tense shoulder, and Stiles slowly brings the rest of his body up against the back of Isaac’s until he can wrap his arms around Isaac and grab at the damaged hand Isaac’s trying to keep out of his reach. Isaac’s not struggling too hard though, and it’s good that he’ll let Stiles take care of him in at least this capacity.

            “It looks like you’re gonna be ok,” Stiles says softly into Isaac’s neck as he runs his hands over Isaac’s clenched ones. “But I’m not the EMT.”

“I’m not an EMT either,” Isaac says, but he does relax his hands a bit, takes a cursory look at them. “I’ll live,” he declares and moves to go back to bed, but Stiles tightens the hug and keeps them there for just another few minutes.

“I love it when EMTs tell their injured patients that ‘they’ll live’.” Isaac sighs but smiles at the little joke.

“So maybe an EMT would put some ice on knuckles that are definitely going to bruise,” Isaac admits with a bit of humor. He turns around and hugs Stiles full on with one arm, his other hand gingerly placed between Stiles’ shoulder blades to avoid further injury.

“Thanks,” Isaac admits softly as he hugs Stiles, and all Stiles can do is nod. He doesn’t really feel like he’s doing all that much to help. Triage after the battle is fine, but Stiles wants Isaac to stop fighting this war with himself altogether. Facing that daunting task by himself is almost overwhelming just to think about. He’ll have to start researching and reading and picking the psych majors’ brains when he’s back on campus in a few weeks.

            _Maybe I’m gonna have to let Allison in on everything that’s happened with Isaac, because she’s got a degree in social work and she must know something. I don’t know if I can fix this on my own._

 

**************************************

The morning of Isaac’s exam, Stiles sets an alarm early to make sure Isaac eats breakfast.  When the tone of the alarm goes off, he wakes to find Isaac’s out of bed already.  He’s not in the bathroom, and Stiles assumes he’s downstairs; he goes down to offer to make an omelet or pancakes or something, but there’s no sign of Isaac downstairs either.  Stiles starts a pot of coffee and heads back upstairs to the last logical place Isaac might be: the nursery.

            “Morning,” Stiles says quietly from the doorway.  

            Isaac sits in the rocker with a fast asleep Eloise in his arms. He looks up and forces a smile for Stiles. His face looks like a sunken skull from the deep bruise-colored bags under Isaac’s eyes, and Stiles would start another argument about the need for sleep if he didn’t already know it would get him exactly _nowhere._

            “Did you get any sleep at all last night?” Stiles wonders.

            “An hour or two,” Isaac replies. “I’m fine; don’t worry.  I just heard her fussing during the night and--I wasn’t going to sleep anyway.”

            “You should’ve woken me up.  I could’ve--”

            “I’m okay, Stiles.”

            “You haven’t slept more than a couple hours any night this week,” Stiles counters.  “You’ve got dark circles under your eyes, and--”

            “I’m okay, Stiles,” Isaac repeats more firmly.  

            _Sure you are_ , Stiles grumbles mentally.

            “I’ll sleep after the test today.”

            Stiles sighs in defeat, a lecture isn’t going to help Isaac sleep.  He might as well just do what he can and hope Isaac gets some sleep once the test is over today.  

“I put on some coffee,” Stiles says.  “Let me make you something to eat? Omelets sound good?”

            “You don’t have to.”

            “I want to,” Stiles replies.  “Whatever happens with the test, I’m proud of you; you know that? You’ve worked your ass off for this.”

            “Not sure it’s gonna be enough,” Isaac mutters, looking down at the sleeping toddler in his arms.  “What if I blow this?”

            “Impossible,” Stiles replies.  “You might not pass, but that’s not ‘blowing it’ because if the way you’ve been studying is any indication you’re not planning to give up anytime soon.”  Isaac doesn’t answer or raise his eyes to meet Stiles’.   “And don’t worry if you’re doubting yourself; I’ve got enough faith in you for the both of us,” Stiles adds.

            Isaac’s lips stretch into a small smile at the words, so Stiles deems his mission accomplished for the moment.  

            “Come on; it’s breakfast time,” he bids again, and this time Isaac nods.

            He rises and places Eloise gently back in her crib.  Stiles leads the way back to the kitchen, and Isaac follows in silence.  Rather than let the quiet linger, Stiles starts up smalltalk; he rambles about everything from the weather to Scott’s latest plan for a “bro trip” until he begins to wonder if Isaac’s sick of hearing him chatter.

            “I can stop talking, ya know,” Stiles offers as he deposits the finishes ham and cheese omelet on Isaac’s plate.  “If you just want to--”

            “No, it’s good,” Isaac replies, taking a bite of the offered meal.  “I appreciate it; I really do.  Keeps me from psyching myself out.”

“Okay,” Stiles replies.  “Well, let’s see; oh hey, did I tell you Melissa’s convinced my dad to take up gardening for a hobby? She says it’s good for his blood pressure.  At first I thought she meant vegetables or something, but she totally meant like roses and tulips or whatever else.  Dad says he thinks it was just her way of getting some landscaping done at the house, but I don’t think he really minds that much anyway…”

 

*****************************************

 

**Isaac pukes in the bathroom of the test building, bringing up the breakfast Stiles made.  He splashes some cold water on his face in the sink, drying his face with the rough paper towels in the dispenser, leaving his cheeks red.  He stares in the mirror for a solid minute, seriously debating just leaving altogether. The job at the cemetery is good enough for now.  He doesn’t _have_ to take this test.**

**But Isaac _wants_ to.  **

**And that’s maybe the scariest thing about all this: that Isaac wants to pass so badly he can hardly stand it.  The idea of doing something _more_ with his life than just get by is awesome and terrifying at the same time.  His phone dings in his pocket, bringing him from his thoughts.**

**It’s from Stiles, of course, and says simply, “I love you.  I’m proud of you. Give ‘em hell.”**

**He smiles down at the words, reading them over a couple more times before putting his phone on silent and stowing it back in his pocket. He takes a deep breath and heads out of the bathroom to find the test room.**

**_One way or the other I’ll be done in a few hours.  At least I’ll be able to fucking relax._ **

 

**************************************

 

Stiles waits anxiously for the call from Isaac to say he’s out of the test. When the phone finally rings he answers immediately.

“Hello?”

“You said call you when I was out of the test,” Isaac replies, “So, yeah, I’m out.  Be home in a few.”

“How do you feel about it?” Stiles wonders, a bit afraid of the answer given Isaac’s monotone speech so far.

Isaac sighs heavily on the other end of the phone.

“I don’t fucking know,” he laments. “I felt like I knew the answers and all, but maybe I just didn’t realize how wrong I was about them.  And my head is fucking killing me. So just--I don’t know.”

“I’m sure you did great,” Stiles replies.  “And you probably just need some food and some sleep, yeah? Now that it’s all over.”

“Yeah, right,” Isaac agrees, still sounding distracted. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay.  See you soon.”

 

*********************************************

 

**Isaac had thought the relief of being done would help him clear his head and wind down long enough to get in a bit of sleep.  He has no such luck.  Stiles had ordered chinese take-out, which arrived about the time Isaac got home.  He tried to cheer Isaac up, joking and chatting as they devoured the veggie lo mein and sesame chicken--Isaac’s favorites. Nevertheless, Isaac’s still lying awake on the couch, staring up at the ceiling in misery.**

**“Maybe bed?” Stiles suggests.  “There’re distractions and all down here, so--”**

**“It’s fine,” Isaac dismisses.  “I’ll just veg out to the TV. I’ll sleep tonight.”**

**“But what if you-”**

**“I’ll be up once I’m tired enough to fall asleep, ok?” Isaac fights the urge to yawn or rub his eyes at the end of the sentence. He knows he didn’t convince Stiles. Then again, Stiles has probably only gotten a few more hours than he has this past week.**

**“You’re gonna fall asleep right here in ten minutes though,” Stiles sounds a little ticked off. Stiles’ eyes dart around the room that Lydia has been slowly transforming to match the Pottery Barn catalog she subscribed him to a few weeks after they met. “I just- I just don’t want you to get hurt.”**

**He doesn’t expound any further than that. It’s pretty clear that Stiles thinks Isaac might end up trashing the living room again, but Isaac would rather pay to replace whatever he might break than hurt Stiles again.**

**“I’ll come up to bed in an hour, ok? Go get my spot warm,” Isaac smiles before heaving himself off of the couch to clean up the chinese containers they left in the kitchen.**

**Stiles kisses his cheek in a way that couldn’t say ‘you better fucking be there in an hour or I’ll drag you to bed myself’ any louder than if he actually did say it.**

 

**********************************************************************************

            Stiles wakes up when Ellie starts to whine a little in the baby monitor, and then immediately realizes that Isaac isn’t in their bed.

            He does his best not to take his frustrations out on Ellie as he stumbles to go check on her, and she’s happily back to sleep after Stiles lets her grab onto his finger while he rubs her tummy. She’s breathing tiny, deep, baby sighs in just a few minutes, and Stiles leaves her to go on a hunt for Isaac.

            Isaac is asleep back in the old room that he used to occupy before they both decided that the master suite Stiles moved into so long ago had the most space for the two of them. It’s just a little double bed in here, and even in the darkness he can tell that Isaac hadn’t ever left a lot of his personality in this room when they weren’t _living together_ living together. It looks like Isaac’s dead he’s in such a deep sleep and Stiles makes the decision to just tough tonight out with him. Maybe without all the stress out of the way… everything will go fine tonight. It’s not as weird as he thought it would be to be the big spoon, and his last thought before he falls asleep again is that they should have been doing this much more often than they have been. This way Stiles’ll be able to wake Isaac up and keep him from doing something to hurt himself.

            _And me,_ he thinks, but hates himself for it as he feels the weight of exhaustion pull his eyelids shut.

            So maybe he doesn’t believe himself as much as he wants to, but he thinks they make it a good four or five hours until it all goes to shit and Isaac wakes him up with a nice elbow to the face.

“What the _fuck_ , Stiles!” Isaac yells while Stiles falls off the side of Isaac’s old bed. Isaac follows him to the ground by the bed like he has the last two nights after the first nightmare, but Stiles can’t find it in his _massively compassionate heart_ to let him get away with this again.

“I told you, you’re gonna hurt yourself if you sleep alone again when you’re like this,” Stiles mutters it to the floor while they disentangle from Stiles’ death grip that pulled them both down. Isaac doesn’t want to hear that argument anymore, even though Stiles is right.

“I’m always ‘like this’,” Isaac air quotes with such razor sharp sarcasm that it’s clear that the darkness has covered up Stiles’ bloody nose from when Isaac elbowed him on their way to the floor. But Stiles can still taste the blood and feels the pounding pain under his eyes, and his hand comes away pretty wet from his gentle exploration of it in the dark.

            _Fuck._

“Could you find a light?” The question throws Isaac off the warpath, and he gets up to flip the light on the nightstand on.

Stiles tips his head back until he’s leaning his head on the side of the mattress, even though he knows that you’re not supposed to do that with nosebleeds. The amount of blood is starting to freak him out and make him dizzy.

            Isaac doesn’t even say anything before he rushes out of the room at the sight of Stiles, and Stiles is so fucking tired that all he does is close his eyes and think vaguely bitter thoughts he doesn’t really want to define for himself.

            He’s startled as fuck to feel gentle hands pull his own away, Isaac reaching behind his neck to slowly tip his head forward and pull his pinched fingers off his nose.

            “You’re gonna make it worse,” Stiles whines as he feels blood start to flow again, but Isaac just sighs sadly and presses a warm and wet washcloth to Stiles’ lips as the bleeding slowly stops.

            “I think you should listen to the EMT, don’t you?” Isaac says it like he’s trying to be light about it, but the tone makes Stiles try and lift his head up to see Isaac’s face instead of his sleep pants and bloody hands.

            Isaac keeps the pressure on the back of his neck until the bleeding stops a few minutes later and Stiles takes the other warm washcloth that he’s offered and slowly raises his head up.

            “So you think you’re an EMT?” Stiles feels a bit of warmth spread through himself at the words, but feels all of that go away when he sees Isaac’s face. It’s exactly as lost and terrified as the time that Stiles had to physically pull Isaac out of the basement at Ellie’s party. He can even see the dried tear tracks that end hastily half way down Isaac’s cheeks where he’s scrubbed them away.

            “Hopefully,” Isaac says as he reaches to the side of them where Stiles notices the little plastic bag filled with ice cubes wrapped up in a kitchen towel. He plops it gently over Stiles’ nose, but makes an upset face at it.

            “What? Is it broken? Or…”

            “I don’t think so. Just- just. What’re you going to tell people?” Isaac asks so meekly that is breaks his heart all over again. It’s a lot of heartbreak to experience in just the last few weeks.

            The terrified pleas of half-asleep Isaac ring through his head at the question.

            _They’ll take me away if anyone find out that he--because they wouldn't understand and-- and you just can’t tell your dad, Stiles, please?_

“Isaac, I can’t believe you just let me catch my face on the swinging door to the kitchen,” he says as he rests his hand over Isaac’s on the ice pack. “But it’s ok, because I’ll tell everyone that my big, handsome, EMT boyfriend patched me up and took very good care of me.”

“I hate this. I hate that I hurt you. I had to come up with stories for fucking _years_ and I don’t know if these nightmares are ever going to stop again, what if I do something worse…”

Stiles fails to see how it could get much worse than this, but he lacks the imagination for it that Isaac apparently has.

“I love you,” Stiles interrupts earnestly, and it stops Isaac in the middle of his morbid tracks. “We’ll figure it out. I know you don’t want to hurt me. It’s been pure accident, both times. And we both know it. It’s ok that not everyone else knows the truth behind this-” Stiles waves his free hand vaguely between them, “kitchen door event.”

Isaac nods and drops something in Stiles’ lap that he can’t see past the ice bag on his nose.

“I got you a different shirt too, since you’re sort of…”

“Covered in blood?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles tries to move, but the overwhelming headache makes him freeze and wince.

“I can’t move.”

“It’s ok, I got you.”

Isaac produces a pair of scissors from somewhere and cuts a line straight up the front of Stiles’ beat up old sleeping shirt before helping him into a soft plaid button up that Isaac only buttons up as far as the middle of his stomach.

“You still like the view?” Stiles teases from around holding the ice bag, and he can see Isaac’s face turn the sweetest shade of pink.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, but it gets a smile out of him and that’s what really matters.

“Never,” Stiles muffles back. Isaac hooks his hand underneath one of Stiles’ arms.

“It’s gonna hurt to stand, but then we’ll just lean up against some pillows on this bed for tonight, ok? You probably shouldn’t lay down, it’ll make the headache worse.”

“I trust you,” Stiles agrees, but the actual motion of Isaac getting them both back onto his old bed is nothing but blurry and numb pain until Isaac rearranges them back to front.

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” Isaac whispers from behind him as he leans on the headboard and Stiles leans on Isaac’s chest. He takes over ice bag holding duty from Stiles’ tired arms.

“I love you,” Stiles says to the rest of the room since he can’t turn his head and look at Isaac like he usually would.

“I love you, too,” comes the reply, a soft hum right in his ear before he drops off to sleep.

 

***************************************

Dad is waiting at the grocery store for Stiles’ instructions on the cake, but he still doesn’t know if this surprise party is going to be one of encouragement to try again or one of celebration. Ellie’s been in a very attached mood today, and he’s glad that he has the summer off to watch her while Isaac’s at the cemetery. He refreshes Isaac’s laptop that he left open waiting for the results while Ellie plays around with the handful of cheerios that he gave her to occupy herself. They sit and wait at the kitchen table together, and even though Ellie can’t read or doesn’t have the slightest clue what’s going on, he thought it might be nice to be able to tell her when she’s a bit older that she was there to see Isaac pass the test.

He’s been refreshing so many times that he almost misses it when the little results line of the screen flicks over to “passed” instead of “in process”. Stiles laughs in elation, since he knew they were all worried over nothing. He’s never seen Isaac study for anything before, but if the last two months have proved anything, its that Isaac would have been the world’s most stressed, and most successful college student.

Stiles turns Ellie around from sitting on his lap and she automatically goes to put her little arms around his neck, and they stand up so Stiles can dance her around the kitchen. It never fails to get her laughing, and they keep dancing for another ten minutes until Stiles’ phone starts to ring. Ellie lights up, because she loves both of their phones and the magical noises that they make, and he answers it with her still in his arms since she usually likes to hear the voice on the other side.

It’s not Isaac. He sort of feels like a huge rock just tore through his sternum and landed in his stomach. But it is his dad, and that’s not the worst thing.

“Son, I’ve been wandering this store for an hour and a half, and the tour of the produce section was significantly less enthralling the third time. Do you know what we’re putting on this damn-”

Melissa must take the phone from him at this point, and Stiles smiles to himself when he hears the muffled thump on the other end of the line.

“Sweetheart, the very nice lady who runs the bakery here wants to know what we want written on the cake,” Melissa says just on the edge of sarcasm. His dad grumbles something in the background before Melissa must thump him again, and he yells at the phone. 

“Yes, Stiles. Consider the poor employee. Not your parents who’ve been here for hours or anything….”

“Tell her to put “Congratulations” on it then if you’re in such a rush,” Stiles tries to sound excited, but he’s still distracted by the fact that Isaac didn’t call to share the news. Surely after the hell this last week has wrought on the both of them, Stiles at least deserved this.

_Oh well, he’s gonna get a surprise party anyways, since at least I know how to consider other people’s emotions._

The bitterness in the thought doesn’t completely surprise him, but he’s distracted from ruminating on it further by El’s responding happy cry to match that of Melissa’s and Dad’s on the phone.

 

***************************************

 

**Isaac had forgotten just how horrible life gets with nightmares.  It never use to seem that horrible, not compared to really living it, but, then again, he’s never gone months and months _without_ nightmares before.  As if the lack of sleep doesn’t make him miserable enough, having to look at the damage he’s done to Stiles overwhelms him with guilt. Waiting on the scores so he can put his mind at ease again is starting to seem like the longest 48 hours of Isaac’s life.  **

**_I better have passed that goddamn test.  I can’t do this twice.  Stiles shouldn’t have to deal with it twice either.  Please God, don’t let me fuck this up._ **

**He checks for results constantly from his phone, even when he’s at work, chugging coffee to keep from dozing off at the controls. When he finally, _finally_ sees the update, he stares at the score in disbelief, mouth dropping open as he holds it up closer, in case he’s seeing it wrong.**

**_Holy fucking shit!  I did it! I actually did it!_ **

**_Fuck you, Dad! I don’t screw everything up! I did this right! I worked my fucking ass off and I DID THIS RIGHT!_ **

**He refreshes the page at least half a dozen times, making sure he didn't hallucinate the positive result out of sheer desperation.  Isaac almost calls Stiles, but he decides against it, selfishly looking forward to experiencing Stiles’ glee in person.   But if he’s excited enough to jump out of the backhoe, pumping a fist in the air and screaming in triumph, well then, that’s no one’s business but Isaac’s and any poor souls lingering in the cemetery at dusk.**

**By the time he heads home half an hour later, Isaac’s practically shaking with excitement.  He cranks up the radio on the ride home, singing along to the local classic rock station and drumming on the steering wheel.  It’s the lightest Isaac has felt in months.  He turns the radio down as he turns onto their street, not wanting to give himself away.**

**He walks as calmly as he can up the front walk, struggling to keep the grin off his face so Stiles won’t guess the news before Isaac has a chance to say it.  He unlocks the door and steps in, but a glance tells him that Stiles isn’t in the living room.**

**“Hey, Stiles?” he calls through the house.**

**“Surprise!” comes the loud chorus of reply as everyone jumps from hiding places around the house.**

 

**************************************************

 

            For five horrible, never-ending seconds, Stiles thinks he totally fucked up.  Isaac stands speechless, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, at the sight of the group gathered to greet him.  When Isaac finally manages a smile, Stiles can breathe again, grinning back as he hurries to wrap Isaac in a bear hug.  

            “How’d you know?” Isaac wonders.

            “You underestimate my skills, and you also left your laptop open so...” Stiles replies.  “I couldn’t stand the wait; I _had_ to check, and you did it! I knew you would, Isaac!”

            Isaac’s grin is so wide Stiles wonders if it’s hurting his face.  It’s a rare moment when Isaac’s this unabashedly elated.  He has Isaac’s full attention for only a second or two more before Isaac’s eyes scan the room again, taking in the sight of everyone gathered to celebrate.  Stiles has had them on stand-by for the past two weeks, telling them all to pencil in a celebration party for one of the three nights on which they might find out the score.  

Dad and Melissa brought the cake, shaped like an ambulance and reading ‘Congrats, Isaac.’  They’re beaming with pride like Isaac’s their child every bit as much as Stiles and Scott.  Scott and Allison showed up with chips and salsa and balloons.  Lydia arrived with fancy champagne and eclairs.  But what surprised Stiles the most is that Derek Hale and his little sister, Cora, showed up with five pizzas to join in the festivities.

“Derek?!” Isaac says in surprise.  “And Cora, where the hell have you been?”

Stiles debated for a long time about inviting Derek.  His history with Isaac is definitely complicated, but the fact still stands that he grew up with Isaac and Cam; and Derek was there for a part of Isaac’s life when he might otherwise have been entirely on his own.  It’s not a typical friendship by any means, but at the end of the day, Derek wishes Isaac well as much as any of them; more importantly, Stiles kind of feels guilty that Isaac’s other friends all knew Stiles first.  As Isaac starts chatting with the Hales while Dad passes around champagne, Stiles is pleased to see he was apparently right to invite them.  Cora even coos over Eloise when Isaac picks her up out of the pack ‘n’ play, commenting on how much she favors Camden and Isaac.

“Dude, awesome idea with the party,” Scott says, clapping a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and offering him a slice of cheese pizza.

“Thanks.”

“The way he reacted the first time we all hung out over here, I kind of figured he was never going to get used to us,” Scott goes on.  “Glad I was wrong.  ‘Cause turns out you have pretty awesome taste in boyfriends.”

“Yeah, glad you were wrong,” Stiles agrees, thinking back to the emotional day he enlisted his friends to help unpack and store Camden and Cara’s things.  It seems like a memory from another lifetime; when Stiles was so unsure of how to make a permanent place in this family and Isaac was so overwhelmed with the new cards that had been dealt to him.  “Of course, I’m pretty used to you being wrong, so…” he adds, keeping the tone light.

 

****************************

 

            **“Thanks for coming,” Isaac says, meandering over to where Derek and Cora stand off a bit to the side of the rest of the crowd.**

**“Sure,” Derek replies with a shrug.  “Kinda surprised to get the call, honestly.  Didn’t think Stiles cared much for me.”**

**“Shocker,” Cora mutters.**

**“Fuck off,” Derek says in reply, nudging his little sister with his elbow.**

**“He seems like a pretty good catch,” Cora comments with a nod toward Stiles.  “Loves you. Loves the kid.  Gotta admit the son-of-a-cop part was a surprise,” she teases.**

**“Yeah, to you and me both,” Isaac admits.  “But it works, until I fuck it up anyway.”**

**“Why d’you always have to be such a downer?” she demands with a huff.  “You just passed your test; there’s a party being thrown in your honor _and_ we brought pizza from your favorite place and not just the cheap shit.”**

**“I’m _realistic_ ,” Isaac argues.**

**“Whatever,” Cora says, rolling her eyes.  “So, not to be rude here, but since you’re ditching the job at the cemetery, think you could put in a good word for me? Derek’s probably going to start making me help with rent soon.”**

**“Damn straight,” Derek agrees.**

**“Where the hell have you been, anyway?” Isaac says.  “You never answered me earlier.  Couple postcards from Arizona and Texas, and then nothing?”**

**She shrugs.  “Ya know, around,” she says with a vague wave of her hand.  “If I’m gonna barely make ends meet, figured I might as well do it in some interesting places.”**

**“So what brings you back?”**

**“Well,” Cora replies, grimacing. “Kind of a long story.”**

**“No it’s not,” Derek counters.  “She got knocked up.”**

**“Asshole!” Cora hisses, punching him in the arm.  “This is _not the fucking time_!” she adds, glancing around at the room full of strangers to see if anyone was paying attention.**

**“Hey, there are worse things in life than having a kid,” Isaac replies.  “I had my doubts, but seriously,” he says with a gesture toward where Eloise is playing with Logan.  “It’s pretty great.”**

**Cora follows his gesture, looking at Eloise like she’s scared out of her mind.  Isaac can definitely empathize.**

**“We got your back,” he says.   “Right, Derek?”**

**“Speak for yourself, dude,” Derek replies.  “I don’t do kids, remember?”**

**“Well, there’s a first time for everything.  Don’t be an asshole.”**

**“It’s his natural state,” Cora points out.  “And don’t worry about me.  I’ll figure it out.  Always do.”**

**“Let me know if you want some of Ellie’s old stuff.  You know if it’s a boy or girl yet?”**

**“No,” Cora replies.  “And I mean it.  I’ll figure it out myself.  It’s not a big deal.”**

**_It’s a huge deal,_ ** **Isaac thinks to himself. _And it’s damn near impossible to do on your own.  But you’re probably right that now isn’t the time._**

**He can’t help but marvel that he’s actually the one of the three of them who’s gotten closest to the “apple pie” life that Isaac always figured was just bullshit.  Not for the first time he marvels that one of the worst things that ever happened to him, the death of his brother, ended up setting in motion all the best things that happened to him.**

**“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Stiles says, coming over and grabbing Isaac’s hand.**

**“Just catching up a little,” Isaac replies.  “Need something?”**

**“They want you to come cut the cake,” Stiles says.  “If I can steal you away?”**

**“Oh, yeah, sure.”**

**They head over to the table where the cake awaits.  John hands off Eloise to Isaac when Melissa calls for a picture.  Isaac can already tell this is one Stiles is going to have up on the walls soon, and he’s glad: the three of them, celebrating this triumph as a family.  It’s exactly what Isaac’s been fantasizing about for weeks now.  Of course, he’s still got to get a job and not fuck that up, but for now, Isaac’s just going to drink in the moment.**

 

****************************************

 

Isaac barely stops smiling all night, but when he does it’s because he’s yawning.  Stiles hopes tonight Isaac is finally going to get some real rest; he’s more than earned it.  Everyone trickles out the door not long after the cake is sliced; it’s a weeknight after all.  But Dad and Melissa stick around to help get Eloise down for the night and tidy up after the party.

Stiles is loading up the dishwasher when Melissa walks into the kitchen bearing what was left of the cake.  He doesn’t pay much attention until he feels her eyes on him too long, and turns to see her best worried mom face.

            _Shit._

            “Scott said you ran into a door,” she states, letting the sentence hand between them though it’s more of a challenge than anything.  “You feeling okay?”

            “Yeah, of course,” Stiles replies.  “You know me, I’m a total clutz anyway, much less when it’s two in the morning and Ellie is absolutely _wailing_ for cheerios and nothing else will get her to--”

            “Stiles,” she interrupts, “I’ve run into a ‘door’ or two myself, you know.”

            And Stiles _does_ know.  He knows that Scott’s dad was one hell of a mean drunk.  He knows Melissa used to lie to Dad about where the bruises were coming from.  He knows Dad got suspended for two weeks without pay for how he wailed on Mr. McCall when he found out.  And that Dad didn’t regret it for a second.

            “It’s not what you think,” Stiles swears, and he can tell from the way she purses her lips that she doesn’t believe him. He hates that this is even crossing her mind, that she has to think about the years she spent covering up her own pain in this well-intended, but unnecessary attempt to prevent Stiles’ from enduring that same pain.

            “Oh, honey,” she says, “Even if I _wasn’t_ a nurse, I know you well enough to tell when you’re lying to me.” She takes a step forward, eyes earnest as she reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder.  “You _never_ have to lie to me, not about--”

“Melissa, I _promise_ you,” Stiles interjects, “It’s not what you think.  I’m completely fine.  Isaac would never hurt me!”

            “It was never Rafe’s intention either,” she replies, “not at first, but--”

            “Stop it!” Stiles demands, starting to get genuinely agitated that she isn’t _listening_.  

            “I want to help.”

            “Then believe me!  Isaac wouldn’t hurt me, never on purpose.  It’s just--things with Isaac’s past are--are kind of complicated, and he hasn’t been sleeping well because of the test, and he’s stressed and--”

            “None of those are excuses that--”

            “Hear me out, okay? Just--just hear me out.  I’ll explain it, just listen for a minute.”

            “Okay.  Explain it to me then.  I’m all ears.”

 

*****************************************

 

            **Isaac watches as Melissa goes into the kitchen with her jaw set like she’s on a mission.  It leaves him alone with the sheriff, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t put him on edge. He never knows quite what to say to John. Isaac turns the TV to ESPN, hoping for some sports game that will get the sheriff talking the way it does Stiles.  But John doesn’t speak, and the silence grows, and with the way he’s frowning over at Isaac, the quiet starts to take a turn from awkward to tense.**

**“So--um--I really appreciate you and Melissa coming tonight,” Isaac manages, trying desperately to break the tension.  “And--and that cake was awesome.”**

**John doesn’t reply immediately, and he doesn’t smile at the sentiment like he usually would.  His frown only deepens, and Isaac’s gut clenches in apprehension.**

**_Shit.  I fucked something up.  Big time.  But what?_**

**“If Stiles keeps up this clumsy streak of running into doors and tripping over everything, it’s a good thing he’ll be living with an EMT I guess, isn’t it?” John wonders finally, voice menacing despite its quiet tone.**

**“W--well, I mean he’s not _that_ clumsy.  Not enough to need an EMT.”**

**“No,” John agrees.  “He’s _not_ that clumsy.”**

**“Acc--accidents h--happen, though,” Isaac replies, swallowing hard.  “I mean, anyone c-could fall and--”**

**“Bullshit,” John growls.  “Maybe Scott bought that line about running into door and tripping over things in the dark, but my son is lying about how he got those bruises on his face and what--or should I say _who_ busted his lip.  And I think you know what _really_ happened.”**

**“Sh--Sheriff Stilinski, I _swear_ I didn’t mean--”**

**“I don’t want an excuse!” John retorts,  anger burning in his eyes as he demands, “I want the truth. _Now._ ”**

**“It--it wasn’t a door, you’re right,” Isaac confesses.  “It was--it was me, but I--”**

**Mr. Stilinski advances before Isaac can finish the sentence, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s coming; Isaac scrambles out of the chair and cowers back instinctively, hands up to block his face even though he pretty much deserves the first couple swings.**

**“I swear it wasn’t on p--purpose! I’m sorry!” Isaac yelps, realizing too late that he’s backing himself into the corner.  “I’d n-never hurt him on purpose, sir, I _swear_! P--please believe me!”**

**“Dad?!” Stiles voice cuts in as he rushes into the room, standing firmly in front of Isaac in the next second.  “What the _fuck_?!”**

**“I was just trying to have a little conversation about those bruises all over your face that you feel the need to lie about,” Mr. Stilinski answers gruffly, “I didn’t mean to startle Isaac like that, but I want some damn answers, and I thought he could give me a little insight.”**

**“Well, just back off, Dad!” Stiles insists, but he says it the way Cam used to.**

**The way Cam would shield Isaac from Dad.  Provoke him to take the brunt of everything so Isaac wouldn’t have to.  Stiles shouldn't have to do that; Isaac’s the one who made Mr. Stilinski mad.  It’s Isaac’s fault.  Isaac fucked things up.**

**_I fuck everything up…_ **

**_But not this.  My turn to step up.  I can do this.  I can take it better than Stiles.  It’s okay. I can take it. Same as Cam.  I can take it._ **

 

****************************************************

 

            One moment Isaac’s cowering back against the wall behind Stiles, and the next he’s pulling Stiles back behind him.  

            “It’s okay. It’s my fault, not yours. I can take it,” he says quietly, voice so flat and detached that it sends a shiver up Stiles’ spine.

            Dad’s mask of anger is transforming into one of horror, and he fucking _should_ be horrified because he ought to know Isaac wouldn't hurt Stiles.  There’s no need for this tough guy routine. Isaac’s starting to tremble where he stands, terror in his face despite the firm set of his jaw.  He closes his eyes, drawing in a sharp, shallow breath, and tensing like he’s bracing for the moment Dad starts swinging.

            _Fuck, Isaac, you think my dad could really do that?_

            “Isaac, this is just a misunderstanding,” Dad says.  “Whatever you think I’m going to do, I--I’m not going to hurt you, son,” he adds, backing away.  

            Stiles reaches for Isaac’s shoulder, intent on trying to calm him down, but Isaac shrugs off Stiles’ hand, reaching behind him to push Stiles back as he takes a step toward Dad.

            “It’s okay,” Isaac says, voice barely a whisper now.  “I can take it,” he repeats.

            And in the next instant he crumples.  Stiles and Dad both rush forward to catch him, barely keeping him from hitting the floor, but he’s out cold, and nothing Stiles shouts wakes him.

 

*************************************************

 

            **_Cam picks up on Isaac’s mood almost immediately when he comes by the middle school to walk Isaac home.  He waits until they’re a few blocks from school to ask, “Which class?”_**

**_“English,” Isaac answers miserably.  “I swear I read the fucking book cover to cover, Cam.  I even kinda liked it.  But I screwed up some of the formatting on the paper and--and I dunno.  I fucked it up.  Like always.”_ **

**_“I told you not to listen to Dad about that shit,” Cam says.  “He’s too hard on you for your grades. You’re twice as good a student as I ever am.”_ **

**_“Yeah, but you make up for it with sports.  I’m never gonna be first string on anything.”_ **

**_“How bad is your grade?”_ **

**_“It’s a B.”_ **

**_“That’s not so bad.”_ **

**_“It’s not an ‘A’.  That’s all he cares about,” Isaac replies with a sigh.  “This is the third assignment in a row that wasn’t an ‘A.’  He’s gonna be fucking furious.”_ **

**_He’s always furious nowadays.  Like all his happiness died when Mom did.  Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.  Maybe we’re not supposed to be happy without her.  Or maybe they’re supposed to make Dad extra proud to make up for how wrecked he was after Mom died, except Isaac’s just letting him down and making Dad more and more disappointed._ **

**_“Maybe I should’ve worked on it more,” Isaac supposes.  “Then I wouldn’t have screwed it up.”_ **

**_“You worked on it plenty; I saw you.  I proofed it for you, though it was pretty damn good, too.  Don’t worry about Dad.  It’ll be fine.  I got your back, okay?” Cam replies, throwing an arm over Isaac’s shoulders and giving a squeeze._ **

**_“You don’t have to,” Isaac says.  “It’s my fault.  Maybe you should just--you should just go to the Hales tonight.  You don’t always have to stand up to him for me.  It’s not like I’ve got the guts to return the favor.”_ **

**_“You’re smaller than me,” Cam points out.  “I’m a better match for him.”_ **

**_“Still,” Isaac persists, guilt and relief warring within him at the prospect of Cam’s promise to bear the brunt of Dad’s anger._ **

**_“It’s okay,” Cam replies.  “I can take it.”_ **

 

*******************************************

 

            Stiles pretty much loses his mind at the sight of Isaac unconscious on the living room floor.  He knows he’s shaking Isaac too roughly, but dammit Isaac needs to wake up _right fucking now._  Melissa’s on the floor next to Isaac in an instant, taking his pulse, grabbing her penlight from her purse to check his pupils.  

            “Stiles!” Dad barks, and from the tone it’s not the first time his father has called his name.  

            “What?”

            “I said ‘has this happened before?’” Dad says, enunciating each word.  

            “No!” Stiles replies, rising to his feet to stare Dad in the eye, “Because _usually_ he doesn’t have people threatening him in his own fucking house!”

            “Son, I was just trying to have a conversation with--”

            “A ‘conversation’ like you had with Rafe when you found out about--”

            “How _dare_ you talk to me like--”

            “You don’t trust me enough to at least give me the benefit of the doubt?! You couldn’t wait ten fucking minutes for Melissa to talk to me first?! You had to go and bully him into a corner when you should know better after everything he’s--”

            Stiles _just_ barely manages to choke off the sentence before he spills more information than he should.  But the sudden stop has both Dad and Melissa on alert now.  

            _Fuck._

“I should ‘know better’?” Dad repeats, eyebrows high to match the skeptical tone in his voice.  “What exactly was I supposed to know, Stiles?”

            “That--that he--ya know doesn’t--have the--uh--best history with law enforcement,” Stiles answers lamely.  “So you’re extra intimidating.”

            “That’s not what you meant.”

            “Sure it was,” Stiles insists, “Melissa, is he okay? Shouldn’t we be calling an ambulance or something?”

            “From what you were saying in the kitchen, about him not getting more than a couple hours sleep because of the night terrors, I think it’s just exhaustion,” she replies.  “His vitals are all good.  He hasn’t had any other symptoms lately has he? Any pain or dizziness?”

            “Nothing he’s mentioned to me,” Stiles replies.  “Are you _sure_ though?”

            “If he doesn’t come around soon, we’ll take him to the hospital.   First I say we just get him up to bed.”

            “Night terrors,” Dad repeats, brow furrowing in worry.  “You’ve been having night terrors again, Stiles? You should have told me.  I--”

            “Not me,” he corrects.  “Isaac. That’s--that’s why I’m so banged up.  He wakes up kicking and screaming, and he tried to sleep someplace else, but I couldn’t let him deal with ‘em by himself, Dad.”  When Dad doesn’t immediately reply, Stiles adds, “And you should be fucking ashamed of yourself for thinking Isaac would ever hurt me on purpose.  You know him better than that.”

            “I didn’t _like_ the thought of it, but sometimes you don’t know people as well as you think, son,” Dad replies.  

            “I’m starting to think no one knew Isaac’s father as well as they thought, either,” Melissa says, frowning down at Isaac.  “That’s what you were going to say earlier.  That John shouldn’t have bullied Isaac after the abuse he’s been through.”

            “I--I promised him that I wouldn’t ever--I can’t talk about--”

            “He came into the ER a few times,” Melissa goes on.  “With lacrosse injuries.”

            “But they weren’t from lacrosse?” Dad supposes.  

            Stiles bites at his lip, unsure what to do, and not sure that lying to protect Isaac’s secret is the best option right now.  But he doesn’t want to betray Isaac’s trust either.  In the end he just says, “Some of ‘em might’ve been.”

            “Which means some of them probably _weren’t_ ,” Melissa concludes.  

“His father?” Dad asks.

            Stiles just nods, staring down at Isaac’s still form rather than meet anyone’s eyes; he looks so fucking helpless right now, but more peaceful than he’s seemed in weeks. Stiles crouches down next to him, brushing stray hairs back from Isaac’s temple.  

            “Ah, shit,” Dad mutters, running his hand through his hair.  “I knew you said the family had a rough time after his mother died, but--damn, Stiles, you couldn’t tell me a little more than that?”

            “No, I couldn’t,” Stiles replies simply.

            But the reply isn’t enough for Dad, “You should have said _something_.”

            “He’s never told anybody,” Stiles explains quietly, eyes still focused on Isaac--on the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breaths, on the drops of sweat drying on his face, on his bruised knuckles as Stiles takes Isaac’s hand in his own.  “He trusted me with it--this secret he’s kept at all costs since he was twelve years old and--and I wasn’t gonna just--I _swore_ I wouldn’t tell, Dad. He _trusted_ me and Isaac--Isaac doesn’t just _trust_ people.”

            Dad sighs like he’s not done arguing but he’s willing to hold it back for now.  Stiles glances across Isaac to Melissa, who’s got tears shining in her eyes.  She reaches to put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

            “Well, at least we know now,” she says.  “You two shouldn’t have to handle it on your own.”

            “Yeah, but--I shouldn't have said anything--but, well, you kind of guessed it all on your own, and--and I’m not sure that bottling it up is really working for him if stress brings out the kind of night terrors he’s been having,” Stiles reasons.  “But--but that’s something I’m gonna talk about with _him_ and not you guys.  So you can’t tell him you know, or that I told you anything.  Don’t you dare act different.  Just pretend nothing’s changed.”

            “Stiles--”

            “Pretend. nothing. has. changed,” Stiles repeats firmly.    “ _Please_.”

            “Fine,” Dad replies with a tone that says this is in no way the last time he’ll bring this up with Stiles.

            “Okay, help me get him up on the couch,” Melissa says.

 

*******************************************************

 

            **Isaac inhales the familiar scent of Mom’s lavender shampoo, and her hair brushes his cheek as she tucks him in.**

**“Night, Mom,” he murmurs before realizing the heart-wrenching impossibility of that situation.**

**He opens his eyes to see Melissa McCall is the one tucking him in on the sofa.  She looks heartbroken at his words, and Isaac closes his eyes again so he doesn’t have to see her pity.**

**“How d’you feel, sweetheart?” she asks.**

**“I’m okay,” he replies automatically, though his head hurts like hell and he feels kinda achey everywhere.**

**“You remember what happened?” she wonders.**

**“The party,” he recalls, and then the next pieces fall into place, but they’re more fuzzy than a real memory should be.  “You went to talk to Stiles and--the sheriff--” he stops, unsure if the memory is real or just something conjured up like the night terrors.  Nevertheless, he finds himself glancing around the room, eyes landing on John’s form sitting in the recliner across the room.**

**“I want to apologize for that,” John says earnestly.  “I over-reacted without understanding the whole situation.  I didn’t mean to--you don’t have to be afraid of me, son.”**

**There’s a sadness in his voice that doesn’t make sense.  Because John _should_ be pissed at Isaac.  He _should_ have threatened any man who he believes is hurting his son.  Melissa should be pissed too.  But instead they’re both watching him carefully, as if he’s fragile and might break at any moment.**

**_Because I passed out?_**

**** **“Thanks,” Isaac says, unsure what else to add.  “Um, where’s Stiles?”**

**“He’s been pacing in here for fifteen solid minutes,” Melissa replies.  “I sent him up to check on Ellie to stop him worrying for a few minutes.”**

**“Oh.”**

**“You should get some rest, sweetie,” Melissa says.  “You’re exhausted and you had too much stress tonight.  Go back to sleep; there’s nothing to worry about; nobody’s going to hurt you,” she promises with a smile that’s more unnerving than reassuring.**

**Because she’s clearly being earnest, but that doesn’t make any _sense_.  They’re words and actions are just somehow too _intense_ to stem from a worry because Isaac passed out.  There’s something else going on.**

**_Nobody’s going to hurt you…_ **

**He’s clearly not cowering back from John anymore; he’s pretty embarrassed he did in the first place; there’s no call for Melissa to make the reassurance.**

**Unless…**

 

*****************************************

 

Stiles re-enters the living room at arguably the worst possible moment.  Isaac’s awake, and he sits up, about to speak to Melissa when he hears Stiles coming and turns toward Stiles instead.  All relief at seeing Isaac awake is washed away by the ice in Sitles’ veins at the livid glare Isaac gives him.  

            “What did you tell them?” Isaac demands, voice flat but furious.

            “Isaac, I--” Stiles begins but Melissa cuts in.

            “I guessed,” she says, rescuing Stiles as much as she can.  “I saw you in the ER when you were younger and with the way you reacted to John’s behavior, I pieced it together.  Stiles just nodded when I asked a couple questions.”

            “What questions?” Isaac asks, still staring at Stiles.

            “If you had a history of abuse,” Melissa replies, “and John asked if it--if it was your father.”

            “It’s not what you think,” Isaac tells her, turning to look at her now.  “I only reacted like that because I’m so--I’m just really tired and stressed and--and my head is kind of killing me, but--but whatever you’re thinking, it wasn’t that bad, okay? He was my dad.  He loved me.”

“That doesn’t make what he did excusable,” Melissa replies.

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Isaac persists.  

“Isaac, maybe--” Stiles starts.

“Shut up, Stiles; you said enough!” Isaac barks, eyes immediately glancing to Dad as he amends, “Sorry, I just--my head is pounding, and I don’t--I’m just gonna go upstairs and lay down.”

“Someone should help you on the stairs,” Melissa says.

“I will,” Stiles offers, crossing closer to the couch as Isaac rises slowly to his feet.  “You okay? Room’s not spinning?” he asks, “We could go to the ER and get you checked out.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure.”

“Yep,” Isaac replies, taking his first slow steps toward the stairs.

  He gains speed as he goes, but his feet still shuffle enough to reveal his exhaustion.  Stiles drapes an arm over Isaac’s shoulder as they reach the stairs, but Isaac shrugs it off.  Stiles reaches for Isaac’s hand instead, and Isaac at least lets him have that.  

They remain silent until they get to the bedroom.  Isaac lets go of Stiles hand and lays back on the bed with an exhausted sigh, closing his eyes. Stiles sits on the bed next to him, struggling to figure out what he should say before Isaac sleeps again.  

“I didn’t mean for them to find out,” Stiles says finally, “but they--they guessed and I didn’t want to lie.”

He’s not prepared for the coldness in Isaac’s gaze when he opens his eyes again, staring up at Stiles.

“I didn’t want to lie either,” Isaac retorts, “but I did.  For a long, _long_ time,” he goes on.  “Until you.”

“I know,” Stiles says miserably.  

“I _trusted_ you, Stiles,” Isaac states, disappointment and hurt exuding from every syllable.  

“I know.”

“Then _why_ would you--”

“Because I’m not sure we can manage this on our own, Isaac,” Stiles confesses.  “The way you’ve been the past couple days--”

“I tried to sleep someplace else! I told you--”

“I don’t want to sleep anywhere else,” Stiles replies.  “I want to be right there next to you, where I belong, _helping_ you, but--but you don’t have to do this on your own anymore.  We don’t have to do this on our own.  We’ve got people who can--”

“ _You_ have people,” Isaac corrects bitterly.  “They’re _your_ family, Stiles, not--”

“That makes them yours too!  They want to help.”

“Maybe I don’t want their fucking help.”

“Maybe you _need_ it whether you want it or not.”

“You shouldn’t have told them the truth,” Isaac persists.

“Well, I did.  Hate me all you want to.  It’s not like I can take it back,” Stiles retorts.

“I don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Hate you,” Isaac replies tiredly.  “I couldn’t hate you if I tried, Stiles.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Pissed, yeah,” Isaac replies, “but I don’t hate you, and I’m too fucking tired right now to explain the difference, so just--shut up and be the little spoon,” Isaac says.

Stiles can’t help but smile at how Isaac’s frown is now something much less wrathful and much more like a frustrated toddler.  He nudges Isaac who scoots over obligingly, and lays down besides him.  Not a minute later, Isaac’s breathing evens out, and Stiles hopes he’ll get a good night’s sleep, finally. There’s a lot to work out.  Dad and Melissa aren’t going to let this go.  Stiles doesn’t think he can let it go for much longer either.  It’s not going to be pretty, but Isaac’s got to handle his demons if he’s ever going to really move forward.  

_One day at a time though._

Stiles honestly hasn’t given another thought to the fact that Dad and Melissa are still here, until there’s a soft knock on the half-open bedroom door.  Stiles lifts his head to look as Melissa pops her head in, smiling at the sight of them.

“He’ll be fine with some rest,” she says quietly.

“Yeah, but he’s not gonna trust me after I told you guys about his dad.”

“Trust can be rebuilt; you’ll see.  There’s always work to be done in relationships.  This is just your next hurdle, sweetheart.”

“Thanks for everything tonight--the cake and checking on Isaac and just--thanks.”

“What’re step-moms for?” she replies.

“You’re way better than the evil ones in the Disney movies,” Stiles tells her.  

“And speaking of how awesome I am.  How about your dad and I take Eloise home with us for the night? Let you focus on Isaac?”

“That’d be amazing, and I mean she’s already asleep so... I kind of get the feeling we’re gonna have a lot to talk about when he wakes up.”

“No trouble at all, sweetheart.  We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Melissa shuts the door, and Stiles listens to her quiet whispers to Ellie as she walks down the stairs to meet Dad. Their front door shuts softly and he can hear their car pull away, but it seems like it’s Stiles’ turn for insomnia.

_He’s never going to tell me anything ever again. He’s right. He’s always been like this. And maybe he doesn’t really want to be fixed..._

_But if he doesn’t want to be fixed, and he doesn’t want my help, then where the hell does that leave us?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNENDING thanks to the readers! Y'all ROCK! We can't say enough about how much we appreciate you guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Well, folks, 16 chapters and 14 months later, we certainly hoped what we thought would be a quick little indulgence in ISaac-with-a-baby feels. We've enjoyed the ride so much that we're making it a series! So hope you'll stick around!
> 
> In the meantime, if you're over on tumblr, you can find us at vague-shadows, where the both of us would be totally excited to talk to you.


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